


Somebody's Prince

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, and magic sex, and sex, and sex magic, minecraft au, plot somewhere, some not very graphic depictions of violence, some very graphic depictions of sex, there's magic, this was for Myan Week 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Falling in love with the prince is highly unadvisable, Michael thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

"Jones, could you pass the gunpowder?"

Michael sighs and reaches for the little sack labelled 'gunpowder' and hands it over to the prince, settling back against the wall as the prince tips a careful amount into the cauldron. The potion crackles and pops and floods the air with a pungent, sulphurous scent that makes Michael's nose wrinkle.

Being on the private guard detail for the prince isn't so bad, really. He doesn't get into much trouble and Michael supposes they've struck up a sort of friendship. The prince insists Michael calls him by his first name, but Michael never does - partly out of respect and partly because he's a little scared he's become far too fond of the man. So in a sort of jest, the prince uses Michael's last name, too.

The prince bottles some of the potion and corks it before setting it aside, jotting down a few notes and placing the lid on the cauldron.

"What is it?" Michael asks, eyeing the bright red liquid, thin and translucent in the bottle. The prince closes his journal and turns to Michael, picking up the bottle and stepping towards him.

The prince appears suddenly shy when Michael straightens, pushing up his visor to see better.

"It's, uh, it's for you," Ryan says, his cheeks flushing slightly as he holds out the bottle. Michael cautiously accepts it, holding it up to the light and shaking it a little.

"What does it do?" He asks. Ryan clears his throat and gestures to the floor.

"It's a splash potion," he says, backing up a step. "Try it."

Michael hesitates.

"Are you sure you want to waste this bottle, sir?"

"Stop calling me sir," Ryan scoffs, smiling. "And it's not a waste."

"If you say so."

Michael drops the bottle and hurriedly backs away as it splashes, spitting out drops of ruby red onto the brick. Nothing happens.

"It's not doing anything," Michael says, but as he watches, flowers sprout out of the cracks in the stones, bright and delicate and beautiful. Daisies and tulips and flowers whose names he doesn't even know, all sorts of vibrant colours - fiery oranges and majestic purples, too-bright yellows and softer pinks to complement all the green. They seem almost like gems buried in stone, striking against the rough, dark obsidian that makes up the stones on the floor.

Michael crouches to study them, brushing glass away from the stems and fingering the feathery petals of a particularly blue moonflower, vivacious and almost unearthly against his skin.

"They're beautiful," he says, glancing up at Ryan. Ryan also sinks into a crouch, carefully plucking a small crimson daisy from the group. He twists it in his fingers and holds it out to Michael, gently pressing it into his fingers. Despite the thick metal gauntlets Michael takes it.

"They're for you," Ryan says, running his fingers through the others on the floor. "I thought - maybe you'd like it," he adds, almost questioning, and Michael nods as he shifts onto one knee.

"I love it," he says, and when he leans in to touch a cheerful violet his helmet accidentally bumps Ryan's head - Michael freezes and looks up to find Ryan only inches from him, his eyes as blue as the moonflower.

Ryan's eyes flick down Michael's face and Michael almost leans in. Gods, he wants to.

"They're very pretty," he says instead, pulling away. Ryan nods to himself and stands up, rubbing the back of his neck as Michael also stands.

"Anywhere there's dirt it should - it should work," Ryan says, turning away to open the cauldron again.

Michael nods and starts brushing the glass into a pile with his foot.

"The King won't be happy about the floor," Michael says, gesturing to the flowers. "He'll think it's weeds."

Ryan laughs pleasantly and grabs another bottle.

"Geoff doesn't care about the floor down here anymore," he says, deftly corking the bottle and moving on to another one. "Anyway, I think they brighten up the place."

Michael looks around the damp basement with its rough-hewn obsidian walls and simple wood-and-metal tables and nods, watching as Ryan sets down another bottle. The tips of his fingers are stained faintly red where they dipped into the potion but it doesn't seem to hurt him.

"I've got your glass here," Michael says uselessly.

"Hm? Oh." Ryan merely glances at the pile before reaching out a palm to it and suddenly closing it into a fist - the glass crumbles into the sand it was before and settles in the grooves of the uneven stone.

Michael goes back to his wall while Ryan finishes up, bottling a good amount of the potion before covering the cauldron again and muttering a quick spell that Michael recognises by now as a barrier charm to stop anyone messing with his potion. The runes carved into the table briefly glow a harsh white as it forms.

Ryan takes one of the bottles by its delicate neck and magicks the fire out from under the cauldron with a sweep of his fingers before turning to Michael, handing him the potion. It's room-temperature in Michael's palm, nowhere near as hot as the bubbling cauldron led him to believe.

"Put them somewhere nice," Ryan says, smiling at Michael before walking past him to unlock the door.

"What about the strength potion the King wanted, sir?" Michael asks, dutifuly following Ryan out of the door.

" _Ryan_ ," Ryan says again, waiting patiently for Michael to lock the door again. "And Geoff can wait a few more hours - we'll miss the sunset if we don't go now."

Michael slides his visor down and grins stupidly to himself - months ago he admitted his fondness for watching the sunset, of watching the kingdom light up below them with fires and carnival lights, and Ryan hasn't forgotten since; he always takes Michael if he can. Michael's oddly touched by it, and as he follows Ryan up to his quarters he can't help but wonder if he's a little fucked.

\--

A muffled shout erupts from Ryan's room and Michael waits a moment before turning and unlocking the door, opening it to peek in.

"Sir?" He asks, and gets a pained groan in response.

Ryan's face-down on the bed, gripping the pillow so hard the muscles in his forearms stand out in sharp relief and sweat shines on his naked back in the bare moonlight coming through the window. He shudders again and Michael quickly closes the door behind him, yanking off his helmet and going over to shake him awake. It's not the first nightmare Ryan's had.

"Prince Haywood!" Michael hisses, planting a hand on his shoulder and shaking. "Haywood!"

Ryan doesn't respond. Michael tries again, a little louder this time.

Ryan gasps and raises his head, looking around wildly before his eyes land on Michael and he relaxes, sighing in relief. There's a string of spit leaking from the corner of his mouth and he abruptly wipes it away, blinking rapidly to dispel the nightmare.

"Are you okay, sir?" Michael asks quietly, releasing Ryan's shoulder pull off his gauntlet. Ryan nods and buries his head in the pillow again.

"What was it?" Michael asks, rubbing Ryan's back.

"The same spirit," Ryan says into his pillow. "I already told him not to intrude," he adds, rather irritably, and Michael nods.

The prince already has a certain...propensity for ghosts, and although he can interact with them during the day, they still haunt him in his dreams, as if they can somehow communicate better there. This particular one is a lucid spectre named Edgar, of all things. He's been around for as long as Michael can remember, haunted Ryan for longer. By Michael's impression, they're almost friends, although Ryan still gets rather cross when Edgar pushes into his dreams. Ryan once explained that it's because it's painful being a ghost, and sometimes when it's too much it's easier to inhabit a different plane, like a dream-state. Unfortunately for Ryan, due to his better attunement to the ethereal realm, it's far easier for ghosts to slip into his mind when his consciousness is unguarded.

"Do you need anything?" Michael asks, slowing his hand until he's just resting it on Ryan's spine, quietly enjoying the warmth radiating from him. Ryan turns his face onto its side so Michael can see him. He opens his mouth to answer and then snaps it shut as his eyebrows furrow.

"Shut up," he mutters, sounding faintly embarrassed and looking at something beyond Michael - presumably, the ghost.

"Sir?" Michael prompts, when Ryan doesn't answer.

"No thanks," Ryan says. And sighs. "Although I am thoroughly awake now."

"Sorry?" Michael says, pitching it into a question. Ryan chuckles warmly and folds his arms underneath his chin. He doesn't order Michael's hand away. Michael doesn't want to move it.

"Are you as enchanted by the sunrise as you are the sunset?" Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

 _Not as much as by you_ , Michael wants to - wishes to - say.

"Enchanted enough, sir," he says instead, smiling.

"Then let's watch it," Ryan says, rolling over to get out of bed. Michael stands and focuses on securing his gauntlet as Ryan pulls on a shirt. "I think I can get onto Geoff's roof."

"How can I protect you from yourself?" Michael asks exasperatedly, laughing at the nonchalant shrug Ryan gives him.

"That's not your job," Ryan says as he passes Michael.

"No, I'm only supposed to protect you from the big bad thugs out there," Michael teases as Ryan grabs a mysterious bottle. "Make sure they don't beat you up."

"And you do such a good job," Ryan says, patting Michael's arm and excitedly tugging him to the window. He _says_ , as if Michael hasn't seen him singlehandedly fight off a creeper with his own two eyes _just_ to get some gunpowder. "Here, hold on to my arm."

Michael obeys immediately, even following when Ryan steps out onto the ledge.

"Uh, what are we doing, sir?" He asks, glancing down at the terrifying drop inches from them. Ryan grins and tips out his mysterious potion in front of them - it's a vibrant violet powder that disappears mid-air.

"Leap of faith," he says conspiratorially, and steps into mid-air. Michael follows nervously and finds his footing on an invisible platform, gaping down at the drop now _directly below him_.

"I built this quite a while ago," Ryan continues, tugging slightly to lead Michael up a series of invisible steps. "So watch your footing."

As he says that Michael feels an edge crumble underneath his foot - he yanks his foot away and sticks more closely to Ryan as they ascend.

They climb the steps and eventually reach an invisible platform – Ryan nimbly follows its winding path to the King's tower – the highest building in the kingdom. Ryan helps Michael sit down in the crenels in the top, legs dangling below them. Michael marvels at the expanse of the kingdom stretched out before them, people tiny like ants on the ground far below. Beyond the walls grasslands and forests blend into desert and hills – if Michael squints he can see a village on the horizon. Ryan's hand travels down his arm to his hand and Michael doesn't think too hard about the strange way his heart jumps.

"It's amazing up here," Michael says, glancing over to see Ryan gazing at the stars.

"Yeah," Ryan agrees softly, looking over at Michael. He squeezes his hand and Michael feels it through the gauntlet. "It really is." He's not looking at the view.

And Michael finds, as the night ends and day begins, that the sunrise is just as enchanting as the sunset, bathing the morning in hues of orange and yellow, but nothing is as enchanting as the reflection of it in Ryan's eyes.

\--

Just after dawn, when they've safely returned to Ryan's room, Michael switches shifts with Jeremy, yawning wide enough his jaw cracks as Jeremy pats him goodbye on the shoulder.

When Michael gets back to his house – more of a hut, really – near the castle walls he immediately takes off his heavy diamond armour, discarding it in his chest.

“What's that?” Gavin asks when Michael's down to cloth, gesturing to the potion by Michael's feet. Michael grins and picks it up, shaking it as he raises an eyebrow at Gavin.

“Come find out,” he says, and Gavin scrambles off of his bed to stand in front of Michael, clearly expecting him to uncork it.

Instead Michael slams it down by Gavin's feet to make him shriek and jump back, trying to avoid the shattering glass as the potion sinks into the cracks in the wooden floor. Gavin shoots Michael a look and glances back down at the floor, waiting for something to happen.

Gavin gasps softly as the flowers bloom, pushing through the thin cracks to unfurl in front of Gavin's feet, a vivacious mix of scarlet/cyan/violet/dandelion/magenta that seems almost unnatural. Gavin crouches to touch one, pulling gently at the furled petals, and smiles.

“Did Ryan make this for you?”

“Yeah,” Michael replies, watching as Gavin picks one of the pink daisies, standing as he twirls it in his fingers.

“He's awfully sweet on you,” Gavin says, glancing up at Michael with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” Michael mutters, ducking his head and kicking at a glass shard. At his touch it, and the rest of the broken bottle, crumble into dust – Michael bites back a pleased grin. Clearly Ryan enchanted these bottles so they'd take care of themselves. Michael appreciates the gesture.

Gavin reaches forward to tuck the flower behind Michael's ear before moving past and grabbing his bow from his chest, swinging it over his shoulder. Michael steps carefully over the flowers to get to his bed, plucking the daisy out of his hair and laying it on the sheet before pulling off his shirt.

“We still up for the tavern later?” Gavin asks, attaching his quiver to his leg.

“Yeah, wake me up when you get back,” Michael says, gladly collapsing onto his bed and sighing at the comfort on his sore back. Gavin nods and cheerfully salutes him before slipping out of the door. Michael can hear him calling to someone – presumably another archer on the way to practice – and turns onto his side to sleep, ignoring the sunshine spilling in through the window.

He dreams of sunrises and blue eyes.

–-

Usually Geoff's pretty good at letting the guards eat with them at dinner, always friendly and jovial and encouraging them to engage in lively conversation – plying them either with rich drink or good food.

Except today he's entertaining guests, so Michael and the rest of the personal guards stand rigidly against the walls, carefully watching the table and their charges.

Michael can already see how _bored_ Ryan is, and he's glad for the visor that hides his amused smile. The prince's empty plate sits in front of him and his hands are under the table, twisting together restlessly. He levitates his ring between his palms, flipping it easily in mid-air as laughter bursts from the head of the table.

“And the prince – your son, I presume?” The visiting king asks, gesturing to Ryan. Geoff laughs and Michael wants to laugh with him – Ryan's not related to Geoff, not by any stretch of the imagination; prince is his title merely because he's in line for the throne.

“No, no, not by blood,” Geoff says instead, somewhat cryptically. The odd statement serves its purpose – the other king appears confused for a moment before he smooths his expression and smiles pleasantly. It would be impolite to question more, he understands.

The conversation continues for a few more gruelling minutes, light and cheerful but clearly boring Ryan out of his fucking mind. Michael stifles a laugh and, almost as if he heard, Ryan glances back at him, grinning as he turns back to the table. One hand comes up to his wine and he lifts it to take a sip, but Michael watches his other hand as he makes the ring glow emerald.

Geoff dismisses the table and Ryan's one of the first to rise, bowing his head politely before he leaves, departing with some of the other nobles out of the ornate double doors. Michael catches up to him in the hallway and hangs back as he finishes talking to these other nobles, all of them exchanging goodbyes and farewells before Ryan breaks off to retreat to his hallway, glancing back to make sure Michael's with him.

“Was that as painful as it looked?” Michael asks, stepping up even with Ryan, matching his strides as Ryan walks right past his room. Ryan laughs and nods, slipping his ring off again and tossing it up in the air.

“Unbelievably so,” he replies, smiling at Michael before catching the ring and tucking it away in a pocket.

Ryan continues to the door at the end of the hallway, easily pushing it open. Michael doesn't immediately follow him down the stairs and Ryan pauses to look back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, sir?” Michael asks. “That leads to the kitchen.”

“I know,” Ryan says simply. “You haven't had dinner yet, have you?”

“I – I'm supplied with – certain rations, sir,” Michael stammers out, thinking about the guard rations tucked in his belt right now. “I usually eat when you have retired.”

“The kitchen has better food than rations,” Ryan says with a cocked eyebrow. “My treat.”

Michael hesitates but steps forward, holding the door as Ryan descends further and letting it fall shut behind him as he follows.

There's no one in the massive kitchen when they walk in – Ryan directs Michael to one of the tables and disappears into a different room to get something. Michael pulls off his helmet and gauntlets, flexing his fingers and sighing at the stretch.

Ryan returns with a plate of food – leftovers from their dinner, Michael realises, and a small plate with two slices of cake on it, setting it all down on the table and magicking cutlery over as he sits across from Michael.

Michael grabs the fork and knife from mid-air and hesitates, poking at the pork as Ryan pulls the cake over to himself, immediately cutting a hefty bite from one of the slices and stuffing it unceremoniously into his mouth.

“Didn't you just have dinner, sir?” Michael teases, cutting into his plate. Ryan rolls his eyes and waves a dismissive hand.

“Geoff owes me,” Ryan says through his mouthful – as ungentlemanly as he's been all evening and it relieves Michael somewhat, makes him feel better about digging gracelessly into his food. “Anyway, it's fucking delicious,” Ryan adds before he swallows, spearing another bite. Something seems to occur to him and he straightens up all of a sudden, putting his fork down.

“Sir?” Michael asks through a mouthful of carrot.

“Hold on a second,” Ryan says, standing up again and disappearing behind Michael. Michael, for his part, keeps eating.

Ryan returns with a couple of goblets and two different bottles, setting them down and uncorking one as he sits down.

“It's ale,” he says before he pours, looking at Michael.

“I'm on duty,” Michael says, and Ryan scoffs.

“One drink won't hurt,” he says, and – well, Michael's a sucker for some good ale. He shrugs and nods and Ryan pours it out, switching it out for the other bottle to pour himself a drink. Michael knows Ryan doesn't care for the taste of alcohol, so the fact that he even brought some over for Michael is – thoughtful, somewhat. Michael doesn't dwell on it too much.

“What's that?” Michael asks.

“Melonsweet,” Ryan answers, swirling the goblet before lifting it to his lips. He pauses before he drinks, lowering the goblet again and offering it to Michael. “Have you ever tried it?”

“No,” Michael admits, glancing down at the soft pink liquid. Ryan pushes the goblet towards him again and Michael accepts the silent invitation, taking a tentative sip – and then a more greedy one when he discovers it's actually pretty damn delicious, a surprising mix of tart and sweet that crackles on his tongue.

“It's good,” Michael asks, wiping his mouth. “Really good.”

Ryan grins and takes his goblet back to drink, toasting Michael briefly with his ale. Michael's heart flutters oddly in his chest when his fingers brush Ryan's.

Okay, he's a little fucked.

–-

Later, instead of retiring to sleep, Ryan heads up to the observatory tower to look out at the stars. His journal lies forgotten on a table as they lean on the railing in companionable silence, watching the movement of the stars. There's a map fluttering in Ryan's hand, a star chart overlaid with the land map.

A constellation catches Michael's eye and he looks down to trace it on the map, following the ley line up to a kingdom that lays to the northwest. Ryan touches the map to make the lines light up a soft blue, highlighting the kingdoms and cities in yellow. The light is warm under Michael's fingers, comforting like the heat of Ryan's shoulder pressed against his own.

“Geoff once wanted me to marry the princess from that kingdom,” Ryan says, pointing to the one Michael had found.

“Why didn't you?” Michael asks, brushing his finger over the name of the kingdom, printed in neat cursive below its landmark. _Europa_.

“Not interested in princesses,” Ryan says, his finger pausing beside Michael's. It's warmer than the light.

“You a prince's prince, then?” Michael asks, glancing up to see the sweet curve of Ryan's smile in the moonlight as he laughs.

“I'm somebody's prince,” Ryan replies, meeting Michael's eyes. “Not necessarily a prince's.”

Michael daren't breathe while he counts Ryan's eyelashes, something like not-quite-almost spilling from his lips, something that crackles and snaps on his tongue like the melonsweet had earlier. He almost wishes for his visor.

Ryan leans in ever-so-slightly, no more than inches from Michael's face.

“Sir!”

They jump apart as if shocked – Ryan whirls to face the voice and Michael takes a quick moment to gather himself before schooling his expression and turning to face the voice, too. The map sparks loudly with electricity in Ryan's grip.

The intruder is a winded messenger, one of the archers Michael recognises from the walls.

“What?” Ryan asks, a dangerous undercurrent of anger to his voice. The map glows bright red and Michael sees the archer swallow thickly.

“Sir, it's one of the archers, he's wounded,” the messenger says. Michael notices blood on his shaking hands. “He's been shot, it's – it's from an enchanted bow, sir, Lord Pattillo said to come to you.”

Ryan sighs and vanishes the map with a wave, running a hand through his hair.

“Take me to him,” he says, following as the archer darts down the stairs. Michael grabs his gauntlets and helmet and starts tugging them on as he clumsily descends, wordlessly following Ryan through dark hallways to another sorcery room. The torches flare in their braziers as he steps in, glancing around before going to Jack's side.

“Ryan, I need you to get the antidote,” Jack says – Michael slows as he realises what he's seeing. Jack and two archers are holding down the wounded one on the table, who's writhing around in a trap of slithering vines, wrapped cruelly around him and tightening the more he struggles. Ryan rushes to a cauldron and starts uncorking bottles, pouring them in and muttering spells under his breath.

“Michael, come hold him down,” Jack barks, concern making his voice strict and his expression tight. Michael replaces Jack's grip on the guy's legs and forces them down with an iron grip as Jack reaches for a knife, cutting the vine twisting around the archer's throat but two more sprout from the severed end.

“Ryan!” Jack calls.

“Almost done!” Ryan calls back – Michael hears glass shatter and Ryan curse. The archer tries to keep still but there's vines winding around him, squeezing his ribs hard enough Michael hears an ugly _crack_ that makes the archer scream and then the vines cut that off, too.

“Ryan!” Jack calls again, slicing the vine around the archer's throat. Ryan thrusts a bubbling green potion into the group and Jack takes it as Ryan braces a hand on the archer's forehead and forces him down, opening his jaw with the other hand and jerking his head at Jack.

Jack pours the concoction down the guy's throat and he chokes and coughs and tries to spit it out but Ryan clamps his jaw closed, forcing him to swallow.

“Get another bottle and put that on the wound,” Ryan orders – Jack swivels to grab another bottle and tears away a weakening vine to dump it liberally on the gash in the archer's thigh. The potion hisses as it mingles with his blood, turning it black and tarry as it sinks in.

Michael relaxes his hold as the vines slowly die, shrivelling into brittle brown stems and crumbling to dust when Ryan touches them. The archer faints, going suddenly slack beneath them, and Ryan plants a hand on his chest to check his heartbeat.

“He should be good,” Ryan declares, removing his hands and letting the other archers fawn over him, tearing away bloodied clothing and grabbing supplies to clean the new wounds from the vines. Jack backs away to prepare bandages and Ryan nods at Michael, dismissing him.

Michael goes to his post by the wall, standing at attention as the room goes about its business. Jack and Ryan converse quietly in the corner, a worried furrow entrenched between Ryan's eyebrows as he listens to whatever Jack's saying. The archers take care of their own, gently rousing him with a few slaps to the face and laughing when he awakes with a groggy “Fuck off”.

Ryan leaves a few minutes later, Michael in his footsteps.

–-

Michael wipes sweat away from his forehead and shakes his opponent's hand, sheathing his sword in the leather holster at his side. He waves to the audience, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun as he turns and bows to the king, although he notes with displeasure that Ryan's chair is empty.

He walks off with his opponent, who pulls him in with a friendly arm around his shoulders and cracks a nasty joke that makes Michael crack up as they enter the stone hallway, their laughter echoing off of the walls.

“We still on for drinks tonight?” Trevor asks, pulling his arm away to clap Michael on the shoulder.

“Yeah, usual place?” Michael asks. Trevor nods and Michael grins, patting him on the arm as he turns to leave.

The fights are more for entertainment than actual rivalry – Geoff organises a tournament whenever there's important people visiting, and well, the guards don't mind putting on a show.

Michael reaches his quarters – in a little shack just off of the arena for which _quarters_ is a generous term – and knocks loudly on Jeremy's door as he passes to make him yelp. The shack is divided into seven rooms, each with a bed and a small chest and that's it.

“I thought you fought well,” someone says as soon as Michael walks into his room. Michael freezes and looks blankly at Ryan as the door shuts behind him. _Ryan_ , sitting on his bed without a fucking care in the world, like he _belongs_ there. Some hidden, heatstroked part of Michael thinks it'd be rather nice if he did.

“You watched?” He asks, his tongue thick and clumsy in his suddenly dry mouth.

“Of course,” Ryan says, picking up a flask of water from the open chest and offering it to Michael. Michael's suddenly aware of how little he's wearing – only cloth trousers and a sleeveless cloth tunic, hardly anything next to the armour he usually wears around Ryan. Michael takes the proffered flask and downs half of it in one go, gulping greedily at the cool liquid.

When hands it back his fingers brush Ryan's surprisingly cold ones – Michael jumps and Ryan pulls his hand back with a sheepish apology, pressing the glass between his palms to keep it cold. Michael's too used to Ryan's enchantments, he thinks.

“What are you doing here?” Michael asks, turning to the chest to pull off his sweaty shirt. He ignores how close Ryan is and focuses on pulling on a clean tunic, wiping his bloody knuckles on his old shirt.

“Can't a prince want to congratulate his guard?” Ryan muses, smiling innocently when Michael glances at him.

“You're missing the races,” Michael says, raising an eyebrow at Ryan's scoff.

“I don't care much for the races,” he says, leaning back to sit against the wall. Michael turns his back and swiftly tugs off his dirty trousers – thank gods his underwear is still relatively dry enough to keep on – pulling on new ones before turning back to face Ryan. Ryan's politely looking the other direction, at something outside of Michael's window.

“It's safe to look,” Michael says, laughing at Ryan's slight flush. Michael climbs on the bed beside Ryan, sitting next to him and grabbing the flask again to press against his overheated skin.

“Here,” Ryan says quietly, pushing the flask away and placing his cool hand on Michael's arm.

“Thanks,” Michael breathes out, sighing contentedly as he drinks. He's never quite been this casual with Ryan before – sitting on the same bed like it's one of his childhood sleepovers, gods – but it's easy to sink into the atmosphere, to let his shoulder lean against Ryan's and to relax into the cold touch of his palm.

“What would the king say about you stealing away like this?” Michael asks teasingly, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. Ryan snorts and presses his other hand to Michael's arm as well.

“Geoff can mind his own business,” Ryan replies. His head also thuds against the wall and Michael cracks an eye open to look at him and – oh, Ryan's a lot closer than he thought. “My whereabouts are not part of it.”

“Anything else that isn't part of it?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow. Gods, he's almost _flirting_ with the prince. The thought sends a little thrill in him, swiftly unseated by the fond look in Ryan's eyes. This time Michael leans in ever-so-slightly.

“Who I wish to spend time with,” Ryan answers, his breath warm over Michael's cheek.

It's almost _too_ easy to close his eyes, to let Ryan fill in the gaps, brush his lips over Michael's. Michael leans in a little more and Ryan gasps softly against his mouth, pressing a chaste, gentle kiss to Michael's chapped lips.

It's absolutely all that Michael imagined.

He doesn't notice Ryan's hands heating up until they're burning and Michael pulls away from Ryan's mouth and hands with a kiss, rubbing the uncomfortably hot skin.

“Sorry,” Ryan says breathlessly, yanking his hands back. “It's – I lost track of myself.”

Michael can't help but smile at that – he's more than a little flattered that he managed to make the prince forget himself.

“It's okay, sir,” he says automatically.

“Ryan,” Ryan says.

“Ryan,” Michael corrects, his heart speeding up at the gleeful little smile that tips up the corners of Ryan's mouth.

The gong sounds and it shakes them apart, this time the not-quite-almost flipped into a definitely and Michael groans as he hauls himself off of the bed.

“It's the parade,” he says, and Ryan sighs, eyes still lit up with something like joy as he watches Michael.

“I suppose I should slip away,” he says, starting to slide off and stand. Michael grabs his hand before he can open the door.

“I'll see you later?” He asks, hope ticking in his chest.

“Later,” Ryan promises, flipping his hand to squeeze Michael's and flashing him a brilliant grin before leaving.

Michael grins stupidly to himself and absent-mindedly runs his hand over his arm again. His hand feels overly warm, and not just from Ryan's strangely hot touch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so for background ships, you can literally ship whoever you want. I haven't written any in yet in the parts I've got down, and I literally do not care what the hell ship action you want to be going on in the background - just as long as it doesn't involve Ryan and Michael, but past ships are totally fine. I'm just saying right here that your personal interpretation of ships is canon (and honestly I can ship fucking anything, so feel free to tell me your interpretation in the comments!). 
> 
> And, always, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Michael does see Ryan the next day, but there's no time to talk or do anything because most of the day is spent in a strategy meeting with Geoff and Jack and the other nobles – it's a monthly meeting hosted by Geoff to run over each faculty of his kingdom and it's a tedious, long meeting that very nearly makes Michael fall asleep standing up.

And when it's over, Jack ushers Ryan into the dining hall for a quick dinner and after that, Ryan's too exhausted to deal with people. He apologises sweetly to Michael outside his door and Michael just pushes up his visor to smile and nod, to assure Ryan that it's okay, they can wait, and Ryan thanks him with a grateful kiss and a quick squeeze of his hand before disappearing into his room.

Not the next day, but the day after that, Michael approaches the guard room of the castle to find out his shift has been cancelled.

“Prince Haywood requested a different guard for this shift,” Matt tells him with a shrug. “Sorry, man.”

“What the fuck? Did he say _why_?” Michael shouts, fists clenched uselessly by his side.

“No.”

Michael makes a frustrated noise and shoves a hand through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself before turning back to Matt.

“Then what _am_ I assigned to today?” He asks, trying to tamp down the angry growl in his voice. Matt looks down at his papers and shrugs again.

“You're not assigned to anything,” he says. “Looks like he's given you a day off.”

“Thanks,” Michael says through gritted teeth before leaving.

Day off his _ass_.

–-

“Well he clearly doesn't want me around,” Michael spits into his pillow, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. His knuckles brush the floor. It's been four days since Ryan dismissed him – without even _telling_ him, the coward.

“I'm sure that's not it,” Gavin says, sitting down on Michael's bed and resting a hand on his shoulder. “He's incredibly fond of you.”

“Doesn't mean _shit_ if he can't even fucking _talk_ to me,” Michael snaps, turning onto his cheek. The only explanations he can think of are that Ryan decided he didn't want Michael or he's fallen off the observatory tower. Michael bitterly wishes it was the second, but he knows full well Ryan's okay. He saw him the other day, wandering past the training room – Ryan smiled pleasantly at him and Michael just snarled and turned to toss his dagger into the dummy across the room.

“It's late,” Gavin says a few quiet minutes later, standing up and pulling Michael's blanket over him. “You should sleep.”

It's Michael's birthday tomorrow.

“Please tell me you plan on getting me drunk tomorrow,” Michael mumbles. Gavin laughs and the light switches off.

“Wouldn't be a birthday without it, would it?” He says in response, and Michael laughs.

“I'll be in the other room, okay?” Gavin adds, and a moment later Michael hears the door to the bedroom shut.

–-

Somewhen late in the night, when Michael's roused by the stifling heat of his blanket and flops onto his back to kick it off, someone knocks on the front door.

“Is Michael here?” Michael hears someone say – a very familiar timbre that he realises a second later is _Ryan_.

“No, he's not, sire,” Gavin says. Michael appreciates the lie.

“Oh. Well, can you – can you give this to him?”

“Uh, sure, sire, what is it?”

Michael shoves the pillow up against his ears so he doesn't have to hear any more – he doesn't want any shitty apology from Ryan, not now.

The door shuts a few minutes later and Gavin comes into the bedroom, holding something long wrapped in cloth. The light switches on and Michael rolls onto his side to see what Gavin wants.

“It was Ryan,” Gavin says. Michael nods. “He said this was for you.” Gavin holds out the object and when Michael doesn't respond, sits down on his own bed and sets the object down on his lap, carefully unwrapping the cloth. “For your birthday.”

Michael makes an interested noise and pushes himself up on one arm to watch as the cloth falls away, revealing a sword. A diamond sword, very similar to Michael's own, but shimmering blue and with an intricately carved handle.

“He said he sent you away because he didn't want to ruin the surprise,” Gavin continues, laying the sword down gently on the floor on top of its wrapping. “Apparently it's – it's imbued with light,” Gavin says, clearly repeating something told to him.

Michael stays silent and drops back down onto his bed. Gavin sighs and gets up to leave.

–-

The next day Michael carefully tucks the sword away into his chest and dresses in leather armour before going to the castle. He's got enough sway and credibility for them to let him in, and he immediately makes his way down to the basement where he suspects Ryan'll be. Jeremy's standing guard outside the door.

“Can I see him?” Michael asks. Jeremy nods and steps aside and Michael pauses before he goes in.

“Why are you outside?”

“He, uh, spilt something and it was...not a nice smell,” Jeremy admits. Michael laughs quietly and Jeremy chuckles with him.

When Michael walks in he's hit with the smell of sharp, crisp ozone that tickles his nostrils and nearly makes him sneeze. Underneath is a trace of something bitter and thick – probably the remnants of the unpleasant smell that made Jeremy leave the room. The room's filled with dark clouds, black as pitch and with purple lightning that occasionally hits the ground by Michael's feet. Michael stumbles forward and accidentally squashes the cluster of flowers beneath his boot, swearing under his breath as he continues forward.

“Ryan?”

“Michael!”

Suddenly the clouds dissipate and Michael's left a bit disoriented by the abrupt change, blinking to right himself and turning towards Ryan's voice.

“What – are you doing?” Michael asks, eyeing the bubbling, boiling potion in the cauldron, a deep, sinister purple to match the lightning bolts.

“It's just a night vision potion,” Ryan says with a wave of his hand. “What are you doing here on your birthday?”

The mention of it raises the hairs on the back of Michael's neck and his anger returns, rises hot like lava in his veins again.

“About that,” Michael spits. “What the fuck was your stupid little apology present?”

“Apology present? Michael – “

“Shut up!” Michael shouts, stepping forward into Ryan's space. Ryan seems taken aback by his anger, hands raised in surrender as he lets Michael back him up against the counter. “Where the _fuck_ do you get off on this? If you didn't fucking _want_ me you should've just _told_ me, you coward!”

“Michael – “

“You're a real piece of shit, you know that, Haywood?”

“Michael,” Ryan says again, carefully laying his hands on Michael's shoulders. Michael doesn't shake them off. Yet. “Michael, I – wished to tell you in person about the change but I got – caught up in – in orders and meetings and – I'm sorry,” he says earnestly. Michael doesn't back down and Ryan swallows, cheeks staining a faint pink. “I didn't – quite realise the...effect I had. On you.”

“Effect?” Michael asks, still a bite to his voice. “What fucking _effect_?”

“It's – quite similar to the effect you have on me,” Ryan says quietly, gently pushing Michael back a step. He doesn't take his hands away. They start to heat unnaturally against Michael's shoulders and Ryan pulls them back, curling them into fists.

“What's with that?” Michael asks, gesturing at Ryan's hands.

“It's – a bit uncontrollable,” Ryan says, dropping his eyes to look down at his fingers. “A more...physical manifestation of emotion.”

Michael doesn't press the question and instead moves on to another topic.

“Why a sword?”

Ryan shrugs. “You seem to like them. I thought it would be appropriate.”

“Why did it take four days?” Michael asks, sure he's caught Ryan in a lie. “Surely you have weaponsmiths who can make that in a day.”

“Surely we do,” Ryan says. He extends the fingers of one hand and curls it into a fist again. “I – do not possess the skill for that. It took me quite a bit longer than a day.”

Michael blinks at the realisation that sweeps over him.

“ _You_ made that?” He asks, quietly awed.

“Not really,” Ryan replies, glancing up at him. “The sword was from the armoury, but I carved the handle and gave it its enchantment.”

“The light.”

“Yes. I – tried to choose a pleasing colour for you. You seem to like blue.”

Michael studies Ryan's eyes for a lie – eyes that are the same shade of blue as the sword and _gods_ , did Ryan even realise that?

“It matches your eyes,” Michael whispers after a long, silent moment.

“Oh,” Ryan replies, equally as quiet. He touches his cheekbone, almost in a daze, and Michael takes a bold step forward again. And leans in.

He almost expects Ryan to push him away, confused by the apparently sudden change of heart but Michael doesn't know how to explain that he's got too much of a soft spot for the man, too easy to forgive when perhaps he shouldn't.

But Ryan kisses back the moment Michael sucks in a quiet breath and Michael's shoulders relax because he doesn't need to explain at all – distantly he thinks that this is the effect Ryan was talking about earlier, dangerous soft spots and the odd squeeze in Michael's chest when Ryan sighs against his lips.

–-

Falling in love with the prince is highly unadvisable, Michael thinks. But it's hard to be sensible around Ryan. Always has been, really – he's a rather uncontrollable prince, much happier to experiment and explore than sit cooped up in the castle, and Michael's been dragged on more than one questionable adventure to the forest and spent probably too much time inside Ryan's room instead of guarding it, talking about nothing and playing with the potions scattered around the room.

Probably highly inadvisable, but so _easy_ when Ryan lights up like the carnival tent at Michael's presence.

Right now they're _in_ the forest, Michael's sword glowing blue in his hand, eerily lighting up Ryan's face when he turns to talk to Michael.

“Do you hear that?” Ryan murmurs, adjusting his grip on his own sword. Michael cocks his head to listen – it's easier to hear without the heavy diamond helmet which he probably should be wearing, but. Neither of them are wearing a helmet.

“Creeper,” he whispers, and Ryan nods and turns back towards the hissing. Their iron armour makes no noise as they step forward, thanks to Ryan's enchantments.

Michael stops and takes cover behind a tree – Ryan follows his lead and hides behind the tree opposite him, his back firmly against the trunk as he peers around it. Michael tucks his glowing sword against his thigh to muffle the light and peeks through some branches to see the creeper.

It's monstrous as always, slightly taller than a human and not much wider but nothing _like_ a human. Its skin is mottled green and black and its bones creak as it roams in a mindless circle. The huge black eyes sunk into its skull drift aimlessly around the woods as its head swivels disturbingly easily, nearly 180 degrees, but it doesn't spot them.

The curve of Ryan's grin seems too-bright in the dark woods and he quietly slides his bow off his shoulder and notches an arrow, glancing at Michael before he lifts it. Michael carefully raises his foot to pull out his dagger from his boot. Moonlight glints off of the wickedly sharp blade.

Ryan braces his arm against the tree and takes aim, drawing the bow tight. His arm doesn't even shake. Michael hefts the dagger and tosses it up to flip it, catching it so the blade faces the creeper.

The arrow flies and lands with a wet _thwap_ that sends the creeper in a spin before he turns, those huge black eyes staring straight at Ryan. Ryan hurriedly notches another arrow and the creeper starts advancing, surprisingly fast on its short four legs – the next arrow lands where a shoulder would be on a human and it barely deters it, stunning it momentarily before it continues.

Michael switches his grip to the blade and Ryan curses as he drops the next arrow, swiftly notching a fourth and as he steadies it Michael steps out and launches the knife towards the creeper – it embeds itself to the hilt in the soft flesh of the creepers face, a few inches under one eye and the creeper slows considerably, turning to scuttle towards Michael but an arrow in the side of its head makes it fall over.

It hisses again as it hits the ground and Ryan quickly shoots another arrow before it can explode, killing it with a messy shot to its side. Air rushes out as it goes limp and Michael walks over to tug his knife out, grimacing at the sticky slide and wiping murky green blood on the grass before sheathing it. Ryan comes over to salvage his arrows, discarding the two broken ones to the side and gathering up the rest, wiping them clean on the grass and dropping them into the quiver on his back.

The creeper looks nightmarish even in death, from the grotesque gash from Michael's knife to the ooze of blood from its side. Ryan crouches and pulls out a hunting knife to cut through the creeper's dry flesh – Michael exclaims his disgust loudly but finds the sacks they brought along for gunpowder.

“Yeah, it's gross,” Ryan agrees, pulling a face as he slices through probably important organs to find the two small, black sac of gunpowder. He fishes them out and turns away to crack them open, neatly breaking them with the sharp point of his knife before tipping out the gunpowder into the sack Michael holds out for him.

They leave the creature to decay and continue into the forest, towards the little spring they know is out here. It's not far away and is quite picturesque in the moonlight – a small spring surrounded by soft, meadowy grass in a secluded clearing in the forest. At this time of year there's a few colourful daisies pushing up among the grass.

Michael dips his knife in the clean water as Ryan crouches to wash his hands, muttering a quick spell to clean them more thoroughly and to clear the water afterwards – he does the same for Michael's hands, dispelling the ugly green stain from his leather gloves. This time he doesn't let go of Michael's wrists, instead holding them tighter as he leans in to kiss Michael's cheek. Michael flushes and keeps his gaze fixed on the water, biting back a fond smile as Ryan kisses him again, higher up on his cheekbone this time.

“Skeleton next?” Michael asks.

“Skeleton next.”

–-

Michael's friends are a rowdy bunch, not helped by the tankards the barmaid keeps bringing over. Gavin's a little drunk and close to Michael's side, laughing easily at the curses Trevor spews when Matt accidentally spills his drink all over him.

“Lindsay, please, he can't take any more!” Trevor pleads when the barmaid comes over with another mug of ale.

“You think this is for you?” Lindsay asks, plopping down on the stool between Gavin and Trevor. “I'm on break, bitch.” As if to emphasise, she takes a hearty chug of her ale.

“Aw man, where's Jeremy when you need him?” Trevor complains, shrugging off his outer, thicker shirt to keep himself dry. “He'd lick that up for us.”

Michael cackles loudly and Gavin agrees through hiccoughing giggles, reaching over to poke the wet side of Trevor's shirt and pulling a face at the liquid that seeps onto the table.

“Dude, he's not _that_ desperate,” Matt says, trying and failing to steal Trevor's drink. They're crowded around a small round table, only one stool left between Michael and Matt. Usually they'd be a bigger group, maybe with Jeremy if they can find a cover guard for Ryan or Andy or Jon or that other archer Gavin's good friends with, a girl he refers to as Turney. But it's a busy night tonight and Jeremy's on duty for Ryan and the others are probably posted around the castle because of the visiting kingdom.

“No, no, Jeremy wouldn't lick that up,” Michael says, gesturing to the shirt, “Jeremy would squeeze it into a cup and drink _that_.”

“Oh, ew!” Gavin exclaims, coughing as Matt wrings out part of the cloth to demonstrate. Lindsay laughs loudly and Trevor pushes the shirt further away from him, nearly over to Michael, who drags the wet mess into Gavin's area. Lindsay reaches forward to slide it into Gavin's lap.

Gavin shrieks and shoves it onto the ground, wiping uselessly at his damp trousers as they all collapse in laughter. Michael reaches over Gavin to lightly pinch Lindsay's shoulder in approval and she grins at him, holding her mug up in a toast. Michael lifts his to hers and clinks them together before drinking.

–-

One quiet night finds Michael in Ryan's room, taking an unadvised break to spend some time memorising the curve of Ryan's smile as he kisses Michael breathless in the middle of the room.

“Stay in here,” Ryan says, reaching up to hold Michael's hands. Michael hesitates and glances around Ryan's room – there's a soft breeze ruffling Ryan's clothes, the entire room bathed in moonlight. Michael's armour clanks as he shifts on his feet.

“What if someone comes for you?” He asks, glancing back at the door.

“Why do you think no one ever comes for me?” Ryan counters, raising an eyebrow. It takes Michael a second but he scoffs when he realises.

“You and your enchantments,” he says. Ryan nods and kisses him again, sliding his hands suggestively down to Michael's hips over the armour.

“Looks like a blank wall to outsiders,” Ryan says. “Come to bed with me, Michael.”

Michael's breath hitches and Ryan bites his lip, letting the unspoken question hang between them. They've never – done anything like that yet, but gods is Michael curious.

“Okay,” Michael says, indulging in another kiss before he pulls back to unclasp the rest of his armour. Ryan helps with the heavy breastplate and carefully sets it down while Michael unbuckles his greaves, working his way down his body until he's stepping out of the boots and is left in only leather and cloth.

Ryan makes quick work of that, too, unlacing the leather pads and dropping them carelessly to the ground as he guides Michael backwards to the bed, laying him down before climbing on, kneeling between Michael's legs and pulling his shirt off. It's nothing Michael hasn't seen before, but never in this context, never with the permission to _touch_.

Michael gladly pulls Ryan down with firm hands on his shoulders as Ryan unbuttons Michael's shirt, kissing sloppily while he slides it off of Michael's arms. Michael opens his mouth against Ryan's and drags a calloused hand down his back, grunting as Ryan's mouth slides away to press wet, indulgent kisses down his neck, and paired with the rough scrape of scruff it makes Michael buck up into nothing.

“Do you have the – the oil?” He asks, tangling a hand in Ryan's hair to encourage him to _keep going_.

Ryan wordlessly reaches towards the table beside his bed and grabs a jar, pushing it into Michael's hands and continuing to make his way down Michael's body. Hands urge Michael's trousers off and he kicks them off with help from Ryan, gasping as Ryan sinks his teeth into his collarbone. Something shimmers in the corner of his eye and he freezes as something occurs to him.

“Ryan, is Edgar here?” He asks. Ryan lifts up and his brows pinch together for a moment before his eyes snap to a spot to Michael's right – presumably where Edgar is standing.

“He's leaving,” Ryan says, something of a threat to his voice – his palms crackle with energy on Michael's skin. After a moment he laughs breathlessly and the energy dies down, leaving Michael's skin tingling. “He's gone,” he mutters against Michael's collarbone, pressing a kiss over the bite. “Said you make quite a nice sight.”

Michael flushes and Ryan kisses slowly down his chest, glancing up through his eyelashes.

“I agree,” he says simply. Michael unscrews the lid on the jar of oil and scoops some up on his fingers, viscous and slick as it rolls down to his knuckles. Ryan suddenly pushes up to catch Michael in a hard kiss, sinking down on his elbows as Michael brings his fingers down between their bodies. He shifts his legs to reach between them, pressing cool fingers to his hole and rubbing in soft circles. Ryan breaks the kiss to look down and utters a quiet “oh”.

“I thought we were doing it the other way,” he says, looking back up at Michael.

“Other way?” Michael asks, furrowing his brows.

“I, uh, I thought you'd prefer to – be on top,” Ryan says, flushing. Michael moans raggedly as he imagines it – Ryan underneath him, clutching desperately at the sheets and that pretty mouth open with all sorts of noise, writhing below Michael as he falls apart.

“Next time,” Michael says hoarsely. “Fuck, next time.”

Ryan nods and his fingers appear next to Michael's, slipping in oil.

“Then let me,” Ryan breathes, and Michael withdraws his fingers to let Ryan take over, rubbing in firm circles and pressing in insistently as Michael shudders and groans, inadvertently raking his nails across Ryan's shoulder blades.

This time, the unnatural heat of Ryan's hands helps, warming the oil as he carefully slides a finger into Michael. He gets his other hand to wrap around Michael's cock, twisting and pulling in time with the slow rhythm of his fingers. Michael's just about to tug Ryan back in for another kiss but Ryan shimmies down the bed, settling firmly between Michael's legs and brushing his lips up Michael's inner thigh.

“Oh fuck,” Michael gasps, adjusting his grip in Ryan's hair as Ryan leans in to drag the wide flat of his tongue up Michael's dick. “ _Please_ tell me these walls are soundproof,” he says, shivering at the vibration of Ryan's chuckle.

“Did them myself,” Ryan says before returning his attention to somewhere more important, tonguing around the sensitive head and grinning at the buck of Michael's hips.

All he does is _tease_ while he opens Michael on his fingers, licking in random patterns and barely closing his mouth over the head – to Michael it feels like seconds but it must be minutes because one moment he's clenching around one digit and the next he's eagerly rocking down on three, thrusting up the slight distance Ryan will allow and whining low in the back of his throat.

Ryan surges up a moment later, clumsily crawling back up Michael's body with one hand and dipping down to kiss him messily – Michael runs a hand down his front to slip it under his trousers, working past the underwear to boldly curl his fingers around Ryan's cock, laughing breathlessly as Ryan thrusts eagerly into his fist, moaning shakily into his mouth.

“I have – a protective,” Ryan gasps between kisses, gesturing weakly towards the table.

“Don't want one,” Michael says, scraping his teeth over Ryan's lip to provoke another desperate moan. Ryan breathes out an agreement - “Okay” - and spends another moment getting his trousers off, easing his fingers out of Michael and replacing his disappointed whimper with a kiss.

Michael props himself up on his elbows as Ryan scoops out more oil, placing it on the table before reaching down to slick himself, pushing the excess into Michael with his thumb and glancing up with hooded eyes. Michael nods and lets his mouth fall open as Ryan guides himself in, pushing hot and thick into Michael – _gods_ , thicker than Michael thought, and he groans as Ryan slides in all the way, his hips pressed up flush to Michael's ass.

“Fuck,” Ryan mutters through clenched teeth, jaw flexing as he grinds in experimentally. Michael paws at him and Ryan leans down over him again, obeying the clumsy swipes of his hands and kissing him as he waits, taking full advantage of Michael's slack mouth to kiss him deeper.

“Gods, you're tight,” Ryan breathes against his lips, his arm trembling beside Michael's elbow. Michael rocks up to try and silently tell Ryan he can move – without breaking the kiss Ryan smoothly rolls his hips, pressing in against a particularly sensitive spot that makes Michael moan.

Michael fists a hand in Ryan's hair again as he builds a rhythm, long strokes and snap-in thrusts that absolutely ruin any chance Michael had at holding himself together – he tugs roughly at Ryan's hair and arches easily into the scorching touches of his palms, whining at the burning trails his fingers leave. Ryan pants hotly into Michael's jaw and clutches the sheet near Michael's shoulder as he rocks in, his other hand travelling down to play with Michael's dick, tapping over the wet head and brushing his knuckles up the length. It's a maddening friction that gets Michael close in an embarrassingly short amount of time – before long he's begging, pleading with Ryan to touch him more, fuck him harder, and gods, Ryan obeys so _easily_ it's dizzying.

Ryan moans his name and leaves halfhearted bites over his neck, teeth sinking in only to be dislodged by the force of his thrusts. And he wraps his hand around Michael – blazing palm and fiery fingers – and gives him a slow stroke that makes Michael tense up impossibly, caught between pleasure and pain while Ryan pushes consistently into the sweet spot. Ryan places his burning palm on Michael's chest and lets Michael get a hand down there to help himself along, clenching around Ryan with a loud groan as he comes, messy against Ryan's abdomen and his own but Ryan just moans again and lets his rhythm fall to pieces, thrusts turned short and snappy as he trembles.

Michael pants and whimpers at the oversensitivity but then Ryan pulls out, rising a little on his knees to reach down and get himself off – Michael watches and it only takes a couple of strokes, not even, before he's shooting over Michael's hip and swearing incoherently in the crook of Michael's neck and shoulder.

Michael forcibly relaxes his grip in Ryan's hair, instead petting through it as Ryan shifts to sink onto his elbows again, one hand messy with oil and come and curled into a fist, carefully spaced away from Michael's hair.

“Shit, why didn't we do that sooner?” Michael asks breathlessly. Ryan snorts against his shoulder.

“I was just thinking that myself,” he says, lifting his head to drop a kiss on Michael's lips. He pulls away so they can both catch their breath. Michael curls his fingers to card through Ryan's hair – Ryan hums approvingly and leans into it like a cat.

A few pleasant, if sticky, minutes pass like that, with Ryan's forehead on Michael's chest and his hands gradually cooling down – still hotter than normal, but at least bearable now. Ryan suddenly snorts, startling Michael.

“Ryan?”

“Edgar just came back to check if we were finished,” Ryan says, laughter lightening his tone. “And very quickly left again.”

“He didn't just assume the whole night?”

“Ghosts don't have a great sense of time,” Ryan says. He chuckles again and lifts his head to rest his chin on Michael's chest, looking up at him.

“It's almost sunrise,” he says, in that calm, knowing way of his without even so much as _glancing_ at the window. All Michael sees out there is darkness, but he's learnt to trust Ryan's little quirks. Ryan sighs and reaches up to tangle his fingers with Michael's idle hand. “I almost don't want to let you leave,” he muses quietly.

“But you need a guard,” Michael says, “and I won't be a good one if I don't get any sleep.”

“Sleep here,” Ryan says, raising an eyebrow. “I'll have Jeremy and you can stay in here today. If you want.”

Michael swallows and drags a thumb over the swollen plush of Ryan's bottom lip.

“I think I'd like that,” he says. Ryan smiles against his thumb. “But I have to return home by tonight, at least,” Michael adds, and Ryan nods and presses a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“I have no intention of keeping you against your will,” he says, and rolls to get off of the bed. Michael groans and holds his hands out to Ryan pathetically.

“Where are you going?” He whines, pouting when Ryan laughs at him.

“I've got a meeting with the archers today,” Ryan says, leaning down to cup Michael's cheek and kiss him again. “At dawn.”

“Lame,” Michael comments, and Ryan's eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile.

“You're welcome to use my shower,” Ryan says, gesturing to the door of the bathroom. “I'd stay if I could.”

“Bet you would, you perv,” Michael teases, propping himself up on an elbow as he watches Ryan clean himself off with a handkerchief and some murmured spells. “You'd love to watch me in the shower.”

“You know me too well,” Ryan replies, brushing a comb through his hair and waving open a chest to grab clothes. Michael appreciates the view as Ryan gets dressed – gods, he knew it'd be good watching Ryan get undressed, but he never guessed he'd like it the opposite way – and wolf-whistles playfully as Ryan straps on his boots, lacing them up tight around his calves.

“I'll keep the door enchanted,” Ryan says as he passes by the bed, stopping to kiss Michael again. “Should you need anything, feel free to step out.”

“How will I find the door again?” Michael asks as Ryan attaches his sheath. Ryan smiles mischievously at him.

“You're one of the only ones who can,” he says. “If you run into any trouble ask to see Geoff. Or Jack. They'll help you out.”

Ryan magicks the chest shut and waves his hand in goodbye before he leaves, the door falling solidly shut behind him.

Michael stares up at the ceiling for a moment before dragging himself out of the comfy – the _exceedingly_ comfy, is that magic or just blankets? - bed and heading to the shower.

–-

Gavin 'oohs' loudly when Michael returns home that night, only clad in half his armour and carrying the other half, in the sweaty leather and cloth he wore the previous day. Michael swats him on the head and dumps his armour by his chest, pulling off his clothes and changing into clean ones.

“Soooo, how was it?” Gavin asks, coming over to sit on Michael's bed as Michael sits down on it. He leans in and sniffs Michael's hair, making an approving noise when he pulls back. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks.” Michael scoots back to lean against the wall and Gavin follows, pulling his legs up to curl next to him. Michael had used a few of the bottles in Ryan's bathroom, figuring out which scent he liked and discovering, completely by accident, a potion that temporarily dyed his skin red. He ended up using orange jasmine or orange vanilla – some combination of the two.

“A little possessive, is he?” Gavin teases, pointing at Michael's throat. Michael colours and brings a hand up to brush over where the marks must be, looking away from Gavin.

“Shut up,” he mutters. Gavin grins wider and bounces on the spot.

“So you banged, right?” He asks excitedly – way too excitedly for Michael's sex life. “How was it?”

“It was good,” Michael says, watching as Gavin opens the pouch by his hip. “Really good.”

“It's the fifth today, right?” Gavin asks, pulling out a few coins. Michael eyes him suspiciously as he flips one.

“Why?” He asks. His fingers itch with the instinct to grab Gavin.

Gavin smiles too innocently and suddenly slides off the bed – Michael lunges for him and Gavin darts away, laughing as he tucks the coins away.

“I won!” He shouts before running out the door, screeching as Michael chases him, hollering his name at the top of his lungs.

“Who made the fucking bet?!” He yells, “You fucking cunts - who did it?!”

Gavin dashes around a corner, Michael hot on his heels, and they burst into the tavern – no one reacts, barely a ripple going through the crowd as Gavin weaves around people to reach the bar. Michael follows closely and reaches out the moment before Gavin touches the counter, snatches the back of his shirt and holds fast as Gavin yelps and fights.

“Who fucking did it?!” He yells again, pulling Gavin against him. Gavin's still laughing, his eyes bright with mirth. Suddenly Lindsay appears on the other side of the counter and -

“Lindsay! Lindsay, I won!” Gavin shouts, trying and failing to pull away from Michael's grip.

“Fuck!” Lindsay exclaims, slamming her hands on the table. “Fuck you Michael!”

“That's what Ryan di - “ Gavin chokes on his sentence as Michael yanks his collar back, meeting Lindsay's grin with a mock-frown.

“You cocksuckers,” he says decisively, letting go of Gavin and shoving him towards the stools. “I thought you were my friends!”

“We are,” Gavin says, coughing into his elbow as Lindsay slides over a few coins. Michael sits on the stool next to him and rolls his eyes.

“Real friends wouldn't use me like this,” he says with no bite. Lindsay sighs at the coin now flipping over Gavin's knuckles and then suddenly perks up.

“Michael,” she says, turning to him with a wicked smirk.

“Yes?” Michael asks hesitantly, raising an eyebrow. Lindsay leans in on her elbows and smiles innocently. Too innocently.

“Did you take it up the ass?” She asks sweetly. Michael splutters and his cheeks redden incredibly quickly – he starts to protest and Gavin crows delightedly.

“He did! He totally did!”

“Sweet, now I get money from Jeremy,” Lindsay says with a quick fist-pump, and Michael tries to protest and wrap his brain around this sudden betrayal from _Jeremy_ now.

“I never said I did!” He says, pointing accusingly at Lindsay.

“Oh, you totally did,” she says with a wide grin. “You _totally_ did. It's okay, Jeremy thought Ryan would.”

“Fuck all of you!” Michael exclaims, failing to hide his smile as Gavin giggles madly beside him. “Fuck you!”

Lindsay leans forward to snort into Gavin's shoulder, both of them laughing together hard enough it makes Michael's laugh and he insults them through bouts of it, threatening to remove limbs if they tell _anybody_.

The _fuckers_.

–-

Michael trudges down the damp stone stairs to the basement, relieving Jeremy after a short conversation and patting him on the shoulder as Jeremy tucks his helmet under his arm and leaves.

“We're still going out tomorrow, right?!” He calls after him. Jeremy hollers back an agreement and disappears up the stairs.

Michael stays at his post for exactly twelve minutes before giving in and opening the door. Ryan takes no notice as he steps in, armour far from silent as he closes the door.

Ryan's hunched over a chess set, leaning forward on his chair as he moves a white piece. There's no one opposite him, and although the prince is sometimes a bit odd, Michael's pretty sure he doesn't play himself in chess very often.

A black piece moves by itself and Ryan makes a frustrated noise. He glances up to the empty space on the other side of the table and Michael can't see his expression from here.

“You should've gone there!” He says, pointing to a different space on the board. There's a pause – perhaps a response, but from what Michael can't fathom.

“Not my fault you're a fucking idiot,” Ryan says, and moves a knight.

“Ryan?” Michael asks, pulling off his helmet as he steps up to the table. Ryan flashes him a brilliant grin and gestures to a chair in the corner.

“Here, come sit with me,” he says. The black rook shoots forward five spaces.

“Are you...playing enchanted chess by yourself?” Michael asks as he drags the chair over, sitting down on a third side of the table. Ryan laughs and looks up at the empty space again as he captures a pawn and moves his bishop.

“Sometimes I can give Edgar more...corporeal properties,” he says, frowning as the black queen moves.

“You're playing Edgar?” Michael asks, dubiously glancing towards the empty space. “Didn't strike me as someone for chess.”

“No, he hates it,” Ryan agrees easily. “But it's the only game I have down here.”

As if on cue, the chess pieces all sweep to the floor and Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“You were about to win,” he says, and Michael doesn't hear the response but it makes Ryan laugh loudly, planting a hand on the table and pushing his chair away as he chuckles.

The pieces start to float back up to the table a few at a time – like Edgar's picking them up in handfuls – and Ryan stands to check on his cauldron, lifting the lid and bending down to peer inside.

“What is it?” Michael asks, crouching down to help with the chess pieces. Something cold bumps his fist afterwards and it takes him a second to realise that's _Edgar_ , his corporeal hand invisible but definitely _there_ , fist bumping Michael. He smiles and bumps him back.

“It's a snap-freeze potion for Jack,” Ryan says, sliding the lid over to show Michael the potion. It's very faint blue, calm enough for a smooth surface that's tempting to break.

“Can I touch it?” He asks.

“I wouldn't advise it,” Ryan says slowly. “With one hit anything frozen in this will shatter. Very useful for mining. Not so for human limbs.”

Michael shudders at the thought and suddenly there's a part of the potion dipping down, like someone's sliding a finger into it – the next moment a seemingly hollow icy finger emerges. Ryan smiles wryly and reaches forward to tap Edgar's finger – the ice shatters into little fragments and falls back into the potion, melting back into the formula.

“That doesn't hurt him, right?” Michael asks. Ryan shakes his head.

“Goes right through him,” he says. He covers the potion again and turns back towards the chess table, leaning against the counter as he considers it. He tilts his head.

“Your potion wears off in five minutes,” he says, presumably to Edgar, and grins. “Want to play another game?”

In response, a chess piece flies towards Ryan's head and he dodges it.

“Anything you want to do, Michael?” Ryan asks, turning to him. He suddenly blushes and cuts a glare over to Edgar, muttering a swift “Shut _up_ ”.

“What was his idea?” Michael asks, and Ryan's ears pink a little.

“Edgar can be quite...crass at times,” he says carefully, glaring at him again. Michael can imagine what sort of ideas Edgar's spouting to make Ryan flush like that. “Not that they're not _agreeable_ ideas,” Ryan adds. “But perhaps more appropriate for when we're alone.”

Michael laughs and presses his armoured shoulder up against Ryan's clothed one as he undoes his gauntlets, laying them on the table next to his hip. One of them lifts into mid-air as Edgar picks it up, turning it around in his invisible grip.

“What does Edgar look like?” Michael asks, watching the gauntlet spin next to him. Ryan cocks his head and crosses his arms over his chest.

“About your height,” he says. “Little taller, maybe. Young – about your age.” He laughs a little and Michael raises an eyebrow at him.

“He wishes me to tell you all about his boyish charm,” Ryan replies with a playful smile. “He's got black hair. Glasses.”

“Glasses?” Michael perks up and looks at where he thinks Edgar is. Glasses are rare in this day and age – now people use enchantments or permanent potions to fix anything like that. “How old is he?”

“He died about fifty years ago,” Ryan says. “Forty-nine,” he adds a moment later when he's corrected.

“Any other striking features?” Michael asks, partly teasing.

“Some facial hair, slight beard,” Ryan continues. “Attractive, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Do you?” Michael teases, elbowing Ryan in the ribs. Ryan deliberately rakes his eyes down Edgar and smirks.

“I'd rather not say.”

The gauntlet suddenly drops to the table with a loud clank and Ryan nods.

“Time's up. You want another hit?” He asks. Edgar must say no, because then Ryan's shrugging and looking at Michael again. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it a moment later.

“What?” Michael asks uncertainly, a little uncomfortable under Ryan's silent gaze. Ryan shrugs and leans down to kiss him, no more than a brush of lips and Michael can't tell if the spark of electricity he feels is magic or imagined.

“Nothing,” Ryan says, bringing a hand up to rest on Michael's neck. “I love you.”

Michael's heart does backflips and Ryan's fingers twitch nervously against his neck. His hand is slightly colder than usual.

“Love you too,” Michael replies easily, as if this isn't the first time saying it. Ryan smiles and Michael kisses him again. Ryan's hand heats up quickly against Michael's skin and he has to pull it away, resting it instead on Michael's breastplate.

Ryan's still smiling when Michael pulls away, biting his lip a little goofily and Michael can't resist smiling back, reaching down to link their fingers together and leaning in to rest his head on Ryan's shoulder.

“I have to stay to watch this potion,” Ryan murmurs into his hair.

“Sounds real fun,” Michael says with a snort.

“Well, I was thinking,” Ryan says, walking his fingers briefly up Michael's breastplate, “we should do some experimenting.”

“Experimenting?”

“Experimenting.”

The potion makes a loud _crrk_ noise and Ryan separates to deal with it, tipping some fine white powder into the mixture and stirring it in with a long metal poker. Something unusually cold brushes Michael's side and he holds a hand up in a fist. He assumes Edgar bumps it, although this time he can't feel anything but a hint of ice in the air.

“Could you make Edgar completely corporeal again?” Michael asks.

“It would have to be a strong potion,” Ryan says, placing the lid down again and turning down the fire underneath the cauldron until it merely simmers. “Or we could get him a body.”

“You can do that?” Michael asks, twisting to look at Ryan. Ryan shrugs.

“It would take a considerable amount of power, but yes, it could be done,” he replies. He pauses for a second. “He says he doesn't want any old body, though.”

“Well, could you at least make him visible to me?” Michael asks. “Or audible?”

Ryan makes an interested 'hmm' noise and narrows his eyes slightly at a spot just past Michael.

“I believe I could,” he says quietly almost as if to himself, and Michael turns back to Edgar. At least, where he last was. “It would – take a while, to get it right,” he murmurs, swivelling to rifle through one of the shelves mounted over the counter, pulling out a couple of jars and setting them aside. “Probably won't even finish it today,” he adds.

“You did say experimenting,” Michael reminds him.

“I did. Edgar, you in?” Ryan half-turns to Michael, glancing at Edgar beside him. The slow grin that creeps onto his face shows Edgar's answer.

–-

There's a slow night, a few shifts later, where Ryan pulls Michael in close in the basement and gestures at the door, magicking it somehow, before gently tugging Michael's helmet off.

Michael gets all his upper body armour off, left in leather and cloth, as Ryan kisses him senseless against the counter, his hands warm on Michael's waist and Michael's arm looped around his neck. The cauldron cooks and boils beside them, spitting orange embers into the air as Michael moans and spreads his legs for Ryan to slot in between them.

“Ryan? Ah, Ryan!”

Michael pulls back with a start, hands slipping down to Ryan's chest, panicking as he sees none other than the king there himself, arms spread in a greeting and his smile just as wide. Michael pushes at Ryan, intending to get suited up again and maybe grovel, but Ryan just turns, a little flustered, to face Geoff and curls an arm around Michael's waist, keeping him right where he is.

“I can see through your little enchantments,” Geoff teases, stopping in front of the pair.

“Yes, and does it occur to you I put them there for a reason?” Ryan asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Well neither of you are naked, so you can't be doing anything too important,” Geoff says. Michael blushes and Ryan laughs, squeezing Michael's hip reassuringly.

“Sounds to me like I should be getting naked more often,” Ryan says with a wicked smirk. Geoff chuckles heartily and after a moment of silence, claps his hand on Michael's shoulder. Michael jumps at the contact and dutifully drops his gaze, swallowing thickly.

“Michael's one of my best warriors,” Geoff says to Ryan.

“Thank you, sir,” Michael says.

“And you're one of my best sorcerers,” Geoff continues, shaking Michael's shoulder good-naturedly. Michael keeps his gaze fixed on Geoff's shoes. “So if you get any shit about this, tell me.”

“I thought you just said Michael was the best?” Ryan asks playfully.

“Yeah, but,” Geoff shrugs and his hand slips away, “people actually obey me.”

“For some mysterious reason.”

“Shut up.”

“Uh, sir?” Michael pipes up, attracting Geoff's attention to himself. “You're not – You're...okay with this?”

Geoff turns to Michael and Michael tenses in Ryan's hold, sure he's about to be dismissed or worse.

“Why would I object?” He asks – Michael glances up to see a frown curving down the corners of his mouth. Michael doesn't quite know if he should answer or not.

“Well, it's – it's improper, sir,” he says. “I'm – not of royal blood.”

“Oh please,” Geoff scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Like that fucking matters.”

Michael nods. Geoff's hand reappears on his shoulder.

“Michael, I'll let you in on a little secret,” he says, inching a little closer. “Ryan's not of royal blood. Neither is Jack. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm the only royal asshole here. And for the love of saints, please call me Geoff.”

“Sir?” Michael asks, hesitantly looking up. Geoff groans, but Michael gets the sense its in jest.

“Look, I can't have Ryan's suitor calling me _sir_ ,” Geoff complains, rather high-pitched. “That's just _awkward_.”

Ryan muffles his laugh in Michael's hair and Michael huffs out a quiet chuckle, shifting on his feet.

“Okay, Geoff,” he says, and Geoff fist-pumps. It's a very unkingly move, and Michael starts to think maybe this won't be that bad.

“What did you want, Geoff?” Ryan asks.

“To meet the handsome bastard that's taking all your free time,” Geoff bites back immediately, and then leans against the counter on one elbow. “And now that I've done that, I wanna check out what you're doing.”

Ryan glances at the cauldron and pulls away from Michael to gesture at it.

“You can touch it,” he says. Geoff raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“Like fuck am I touching that first,” he says, startling a laugh out of Michael. Geoff grins at him, pleased by the reaction, and Ryan rolls his eyes as he dips a finger in. And promptly flicks it at Geoff. Geoff shrieks and jumps two feet in the air – Ryan laughs loudly and Michael can't help his cackling, doubling over as Geoff glares at them.

–-

“What does that do?” Gavin asks, pointing at the thick yellow potion in Michael's hand. Michael swishes it around the bottle and holds it out for Gavin to take.

“Cleaning,” he says, watching as Gavin cautiously uncorks the potion to sniff it. “For armour, apparently. Really strong.”

“That's boring,” Gavin says, putting the bottle on his chest.

“Well I was going to offer to clean yours, too, but I guess with that attitude - “

“No, no! It's exciting, it's very exciting, please clean mine, too?” Gavin asks, tugging on Michael's sleeve and looking at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Yeah, asshole, I'll do yours, too,” Michael sighs, cuffing Gavin on the back of his head. “You're gonna be late, dickhead.”

Gavin smiles and rushes past him, snagging his bow on the way and charging out of the door.

As Michael collapses into bed he hears the dawn bugle ring and promptly ignores it, punching his pillow into shape and passing out the moment his head hits it.


	3. Chapter 3

The castle is often quiet, grand stone hallways silent save for the flicker of fire or the crackle of redstone. Most of the hallways aren't even actively maintained most of the time, footprints clear on otherwise impeccable carpet, cobwebs in dark corners. It's almost peaceful, if a little spooky, and it means no one gives Michael any shit for having his helmet off when he's walking with Ryan, supposed to be guarding but instead cracking all manner of jokes to make Ryan laugh. He's pretty sure everyone in the castle knows by now, anyway, so he doesn't mind when Ryan presses closer than strictly necessary to him, when he brushes a kiss across Michael's cheek because he _can_.

Except now the castle is bustling with activity, moth-holed carpets rolled up and bright new red ones put down, maids cleaning every dusty hallway with an enchanted broom or quick flicks of their fingers. People rushing to make sure all the rooms are liveable, that no torch is out of place and no bed unmade; the kitchen on strict hours now, less generous with food.

It's all for the wedding preparations for some noble Michael doesn't really know, some grand affair he'll likely have to guard. Summer is a popular time for weddings, especially in Geoff's kingdom.

And _summer_ means that the heat trapped in the castle walls is stifling and it's even worse with armour – Michael starts sweating as soon as he steps foot within the walls. Every window open and all the doors propped ajar; double the guard and double the staff, it seems, just to carry out all the jobs.

Ryan mostly spends time in his room, now, reluctant to deal with the flower arrangers and the furniture movers. There's one hallway completely blocked because of a failed table move this morning, and from what Michael hears the struggle to dislodge it is still continuing. The castle is filled with strangers, from decorating to catering, and Michael's seen Geoff sweep by a few times with Jack, overseeing the transformation of his castle into _this_. By the displeased scowl that appears on his face when no one is looking, he's not exactly the biggest fan.

It's Michael's day off, too. With the heightened security means heightened propriety, and for the prince's guard to spend more time _inside_ his room rather than _outside_ would prompt a lot of unwanted questions, indeed. So Michael comes in on some of his off-shifts, sneaking past prying eyes and sticking his tongue out at Jeremy's knowing look before he steps aside to let Michael in.

The heat is absolutely stifling here, in Ryan's room, even with the window wide open and the blankets kicked off the bed, and Ryan's heated palms don't help at all when they press against Michael's sweaty chest. Ryan's thighs flex under Michael's fingers and he struggles to keep his grip on them, sweat gathering underneath his palms and on the arches of his feet as he braces them against the bed, his loud panting almost indistinguishable from Ryan's. Ryan's hair falls over his eyes – he's long due for a haircut – as he squeezes them shut, head falling forward when he moans brokenly. Michael grunts and thrusts up into Ryan, pulling him down with the tenuous hold on his thighs and groaning low in the back of his throat. Ryan shoves a hand through his hair and his hips swivel in a rough figure-eight, drawing another embarrassing noise from Michael.

Michael's hand slip up and he digs his fingers harshly into Ryan's hip, rocking him into a better rhythm that doesn't put so much strain on Michael's knees and then Ryan's leaning forward to kiss Michael messily, whimpering when Michael bites his lip and – _gods_ , riding him faster, now, changing the angle again when he straightens and groaning loudly as Michael wraps a hand around him to help.

Even when Ryan's hips stutter Michael keeps going, coaxing Ryan to the edge with slow pulls of his hand and hard thrusts, his tongue tripping over all sorts of praises he wants to say, all mixed thick in his throat with half-mumbled forms of Ryan's name, clogging up his throat until all he can do is moan.

Ryan's hand flies to his mouth as he comes, biting down on his knuckles and shooting messy and thick over Michael's abdomen. Michael can hear the faintest strains of a whine from behind his hand and groans loudly as he tugs Ryan down with a hand on his shoulder, clumsily crushing their mouths together and swallowing all of Ryan's pretty gasps.

“Michael – _Michael_ ,” he breathes between sloppy kisses, nails of one hand digging into Michael's chest and the other somewhere by his head. Michael pulls him down closer and rolls them over with a grunt, Ryan's legs splayed either side of him as he continues. Ryan tenses up and his eyes water at the sheer _sensitivity_ but he doesn't stop Michael, just drags a pillow over to press it over his face, muffling the noises Michael forces out of him with each thrust. Only a handful later and Michael's coming, buried halfway in Ryan and his forehead dropping on Ryan's chest, panting hard as he squeezes Ryan's hips.

It didn't take long for Michael to find this side of the prince, a far _less_ innocent side than Michael ever would have guessed. And it took even _less_ for Michael to figure out how to coax all those pretty noises out of the prince.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Michael spits, shuddering at the last pulse of orgasm. “Gods, you take it so _well_.”

“Shut...up,” Ryan pants, sliding the pillow away from his face and curling a hand in Michael's hair to urge him up. Michael starts on a – surely witty – retort but Ryan silences him with a breathless kiss, only really a hot slide of their mouths because they're panting too hard to do much more.

Michael pulls out carefully, mindful of the mess he left in Ryan, and flops heavily on Ryan to catch his breath, startling a breathless chuckle out of the man. He starts idly biting bruises into Ryan's collarbone, relaxing into the hot touch of Ryan's hands on his back. A thankfully cool breeze drifts in through the window, drying the sweat on Michael's neck and ruffling his hair.

“I have a meeting with the archers at noon,” Ryan says, looking up at the ceiling. “About the ceremony.”

Michael groans and shifts up to mouth at Ryan's neck.

“Michael, they'll see,” Ryan says with not much complaint, tilting his head so Michael can nip at his throat.

“Let them,” Michael says, thinking about the marks on his own collarbone, red and dark from earlier. “I don't fucking care.”

Ryan sighs and pushes Michael's head away, kissing away his frown.

“Michael, you're insatiable and I love you,” he says, brushing Michael's hair out of his eyes. “But a prince has to at least look proper.”

“Properly _fucked_.”

Ryan flushes slightly. “Shut up,” he mumbles, kissing Michael again. “Come shower with me.”

“How long until you have to go?” Michael asks, pushing up to shuffle off the bed.

“Half an hour,” Ryan says with certainty, stretching as he stands. Michael watches him walk to the bathroom and whistles appreciatively at the sight. There's finger-shaped bruises starting to form on Ryan's hips.

Michael grabs one of the cooling potions on his way and closes the door behind him as the water starts. He pushes it onto the shelf as Ryan presses him against the marble, kissing him dizzy in all the best ways as his hands overheat Michael's skin.

–- 

The heat inside the castle is tortuous enough that guards have either downgraded to their lighter iron armour or forgone helmets altogether. The private details don't have such a luxury, at least not officially, but when Michael wanders down to the stuffy basement he finds Jeremy leaning heavily against the wall, helmet and gauntlets beside his feet and a bottle of clear liquid held between his hands.

“Oh my god, Michael, it's so fucking _hot_ down here,” he says, running a hand over his sweaty hair and pressing the bottle to his forehead. Michael curiously touches it and finds it near freezing – one of Ryan's tricks, then. “Pretty sure I would have fainted if Ryan hadn't given me this,” he adds, uncorking it to swallow a few mouthfuls. He finishes about half of it, and Michael frowns as he watches it refill itself to moment it's corked again.

“Cool,” he says. Jeremy cracks a grin and presses the bottle against his cheek.

“Literally.”

Michael laughs and shifts his helmet where he's holding it against his side – as soon as he got down to the basement level he took it off, and now he pats Jeremy on the shoulder and shares his complicated handshake as Jeremy pushes off the wall.

“It's much better outside,” Michael says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the door. “Seriously, I'd go sleep in the fucking road if I could.”

“I might just do that,” Jeremy says with a chuckle, securing his gauntlets.

“How long as he been in there?” Michael asks.

“Most of the night,” Jeremy replies with a shrug. “The king has him making some fancy artsy potion for the wedding.”

“Huh. Damn, you must have been melting down here.”

“I cannot wait to get aboveground,” Jeremy says, tugging his helmet on and offering a “have fun!” over his shoulder as he leaves.

Michael replaces Jeremy's post against the wall, slumping against it and unclasping his gauntlets to put them by his feet with the helmet. He's sweating like a fucking pig underneath the diamond and leather and cloth and he's hoping a few minutes of stillness will cool him down a bit.

It's a boring as fuck shift for the first two hours. The basement hallway only gets hotter – Michael though underground was supposed to be colder, anyway, but maybe that doesn't apply when it's paved with obsidian – and Michael's will to stand gradually weakens.

He's two seconds from slumping to the ground when the door at the end bangs open, a hint of a draft breezing through Michael's hair and he suddenly stands to attention, hand on hilt before he realises it's just – Gavin?

“Gavin?” Michael asks, relaxing back against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

Gavin grins and nods his head in greeting – his arms are laden with arrows, and there's quite a sight more in quivers strapped to his thighs and the two on his back.

“The king wants Ryan to – test these out?” He says, a confused slant to his brow as he looks down at the arrows. “He said he'd know.”

“Okay, then.” Michael shrugs and steps away to open the door, moving back to let Gavin stagger in with his haul before following.

The basement room is just as hot as the hallway, and there's a myriad of bottles of white potions, some opaque, some translucent, and is that one...sparkling?

Ryan spins on a heel to face them, his face splitting into a wide grin when he spies the arrows.

“The, uh, the king sent these down for you, sire,” Gavin says, dumping the arrows where Ryan indicates. Michael closes the door behind him and moves forward to check out the pile of arrows – he notices they're all defects, damaged or bent or crooked or warped in some way.

“Thanks,” Ryan says, shoving a hand through his sweaty hair and flashing Michael a smile. He picks up an arrow and runs a finger over the sharp head, nodding approvingly. “Do you have any other duties today, Free?” He asks.

Gavin 'uhh's for a few moments before shaking his head, politely casting his gaze downward.

“No, sire,” he says.

“Call me Ryan,” Ryan says, carefully putting the arrow down and turning to grab a leather satchel. “Would you like to help out?”

“Help out, sire?” Gavin asks, and Ryan sighs, a smile still tipping up one side of his mouth.

“Please, _Ryan_ ,” he says, popping open the satchel. “Gavin, yes?”

“Uh, yes.” Gavin glances nervously at Michael.

“You're Michael's friend, right?” Ryan asks, gathering the various white potions into the bag and stuffing a few rags of cloth in there, too.

Gavin nods and looks up a little hesitantly at the hand Ryan outstretches to him.

“Sire?” He asks. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“If we're going to work together, we should at least be on a first name basis, yes?”

“Okay?” Gavin squeaks, shaking Ryan's hand. Michael coughs to cover his laughter and doesn't help Gavin out here – the guy's always been afraid of Ryan, for whatever reason Michael doesn't know, but it's hilarious watching them interact.

“Okay,” Ryan says with a smile, bending down to grab a bow from the shelf under the table. “Michael, you want to shoot with us?”

“Sure.”

Ryan gets another box and hands it to Michael as he slings his own over his shoulder, gesturing to Gavin's bow.

“It seems you have the best bow here,” Ryan says. “I've only got basic ones down here.”

“We can get yours on the way,” Michael suggests. Ryan waves a dismissive hand.

“Nah, too much effort.”

Ryan hands Michael a couple of quivers next and attaches two to himself, instructing them both to fill up on all the arrows. The extra weight _really_ isn't helping Michael's heat problem.

After they're all suited up, Ryan hikes the leather satchel up on one shoulder and leads them out of the basement, locking it with a gesture before he proceeds down the hallway and up the stairs. Gavin walks in stride with Michael, holding his gauntlets for him as Michael clutches onto his bow – he can't fit the damn thing over the armour.

Ryan leads them to his room and to the window – Michael sees him grab a small bottle on the way and when he tips out the violet powder again Michael curls his hand around Gavin's arm as Ryan steps out onto the ledge.

“He's gonna bloody fall off!” Gavin exclaims, digging his heels in when Michael tries to tug him forward.

“The only thing that's gonna fall off is you if you're not careful,” Michael warns, urging Gavin out onto the ledge.

“I'd suggest don't look down,” Ryan says before encircling Michael's wrist with his fingers and guiding him up.

And that's how they make their way up the invisible stairs – Ryan leading Michael leading Gavin, with Gavin clutching tight onto Michael's arm and casting worried glances down every so often. Michael teases him about being a scaredy-cat and Gavin slaps him on the arm, but it's all worth it to hear Gavin's awed gasp when they step onto Geoff's roof, his hand slipping from Michael's arm so he can go look at the view.

“It's wonderful,” he breathes, leaning over to peer down. Michael pulls him back with a hand in his shirt.

“Don't fucking fall, idiot,” he says. Behind them Ryan unpacks his satchel, lining up potions on the floor and pulling out the rags.

“So what we doin' up here?” Gavin asks, whirling around to check out the potions. Michael sighs and lets him go over to kneel down and curiously poke the bottles – guy's like a hyperactive puppy. “What do these do?”

Ryan chuckles quietly and slides out an arrow, handing it to Gavin along with a rag.

“They're transformation potions,” he says, uncorking the first one and pushing it over to Gavin. “Hence the defect arrows. No one'll care if I experiment on these. Here, put some on the rag first.”

Gavin follows Ryan's calm instructions easily, wiping down the length of the arrow with a damp rag – Michael picks up another arrow and a fresh rag for the next potion while Ryan does his own.

“You can take off your armour,” Ryan says to them, undoing another button on his shirt. Michael glances down at his heavy diamond armour and over at Gav's – he's wearing the lighter archer armour, mostly leather with some iron pieces in important places. A second later Michael's unclasping all his diamond plates, discarding them on the ground beside Ryan's satchel.

“Why did you ask me to help out?” Gavin asks. Ryan glances up with a smile and slicks the feathers of his arrow with potion.

“Figured it'd be better to test with one of the best archers of the kingdom,” he says. “Gavin ducks his head, a little awkward with praise. “Especially with someone who's going to be leading the ceremony.”

“Leading?” Gavin asks, his head snapping up to look at Ryan. “What – What do you mean?”

“I guess they haven't told you yet,” Ryan says, not sounding particularly bothered about ruining that surprise. “Geoff asked for you to lead it.”

“Oh.” Gavin thinks about it for a moment and grins.

“Congratulations, man!” Michael says, thumping him on the back. “I'm living with one of the _best archers_ on the squad!”

“Shut up, Michael,” Gavin mutters through quiet laughter.

“It's true,” Ryan says, tucking a corner of his rag under the second bottle to mark it. “You've got a real knack for it.”

Michael spies the small but pleased smile pulling up the corner of Gavin's mouth and knocks his elbow against Gavin's.

When they're all ready, they line up at one side of the roof and turns towards the other side, arranging themselves in order of the potions. To Michael's left, Gavin notches his arrow and shoots it in a high arc. At the peak the arrow shatters into glittering shards of glass that disappear before they hit the ground.

“Wow,” Gavin whispers, slowly lowering his bow. Michael nods dumbly and draws his bow, aiming for a similar path as Gavin.

It's not the greatest shot because he's not an archer, but however wobbly it is doesn't seem to matter, because at the apex it separates into white, powdery snow, drifting down to settle on the weather-roughened stone. It doesn't melt in the thick heat, just blows across the roof with the light breezes sweeping over them and reflecting the sun in little pinpoints of light.

Ryan draws and shoots and his arrow bursts into white streaks of light akin to a firework, but they sizzle loudly when they hit the stone and Ryan's wince shows all his thoughts on that. The light fizzles out and leaves no trace it was ever there save for a few black scorches where it burnt.

They spend most of the rest of the day up there, enjoying the cool breeze as the sun beats down, testing out potions and even combining some – thanks to Gavin's ridiculous curiosity. Arrows melt into drops of light, burst into soft feathers, shake off white petals, whizz into bright ivory swirls that remind Michael of the stars. Some of the potions are the same but with different aftereffects – there's another firework one that disappears midair, another one has feathers that settle on the ground.

Ryan was thoughtful enough to think of lunch, and they sit on the crenels while eating, watching the carriages pull in wide crates of blooming flowers and intricate ribbons to decorate the front of the castle.

“Are we even allowed to be up here?” Gavin asks, taking a sip from his flask of water. Ryan shrugs and smirks mischievously.

“I doubt Geoff's gonna come up here today,” Ryan says. “Anyway, if he's gonna order me to make these potions, then I need a place to test them.”

“Like the archery range,” Michael says, leaning forward to look at Ryan around Gavin.

“Or the open field,” Gavin adds, also turning to Ryan.

Ryan scoffs and kicks his feet against the stone. “Why go there when we can use the tallest tower in the city?”

Michael and Gavin shrug and turn back to the view, watching the sun dip lower in the sky as the city moves beneath them.

–-

The wedding is, as they usually almost are, beautiful. It takes place in the open-air court in the middle of the castle, guests clad in their finest and knights in shining armour. Michael stands beside a pot of huge white lilies, thankfully a little in the shade of the cloisters as the crowd gathers.

The crowd is standing on either side of the red carpeted aisle – there's no seats save for the stone benches already part of the castle, and almost everyone has a glass of wine in their hand already as they talk and chatter. There's lords and ladies and princes and princesses, all milling around in summer gowns and linen finery – much too hot for the velvet affairs they usually wear to this sort of thing.

Michael's and Jeremy's job is to keep sight of the prince, and with regards to that Michael is having no trouble locking his gaze onto Ryan. He admires the prince behind the relative protection of his visor, watching how the gentle breeze ruffles his hair and how the sharp sunlight makes his eyes bluer than the sky that arcs over them.

The prince is suited up in his summer finery – smart black trousers and a bright white button down. Too hot for jackets, although some older guests have tried to stick to that tradition and Michael personally can't imagine wearing _anything_ more than cloth in this weather if he had a choice. There's a crimson rose seemingly blooming on Ryan's shirt, just over his heart, with no apparent attachment and Michael would be confused if he hadn't seen Ryan enchant it earlier.

As if on cue, Ryan turns to Michael and winks at him, raising his glass slightly in a toast before sipping it. A woman in a marvellous green dress taps on his forearm and Ryan turns to talk to her, shaking her hand politely in greeting. Michael blinks sweat out of his eyes and glances at Jeremy to his left, glancing up at the sky to indicate the weather. Jeremy pulls a face under the visor and Michael laughs silently, looking back towards Ryan.

The brass calling of a trumpet sounds to indicate the beginning of the ceremony, and after a moment to let everyone quiet down and settle, the ceremonial archers proceed through the arch at the back, marching in a neat row with their bows firmly attached to their backs.

The archers are clad in the colours of the kingdom in dazzling emerald green cloth with smooth brown leather vambraces and uncracked holsters for their bows and the quivers at their thighs. Spotless white roses are tucked into the vambrace on their right arms, a black sash around their waists as a sort of loose belt and their boots soundless save for the thump of their rhythmic footsteps.

In the lead is Gavin, head high and eyes forward as he processes down the aisle, stopping at the end where the edge of the crowd stops. The archers all come to a synchronised halt, all evenly spaced on the carpet. A moment later, they all neatly break away to step back to opposite side of the aisle, facing each other and unholstering their bows in tidy unison.

The king appears at the business end of the aisle, clad in plain finery with a jade cape over his shoulders, buttoned at the base of his throat with a shining gold button and barely sweeping the floor by his feet. It is customary for the king – for this kingdom, at least – to dress more plainly for events such as this, for they are not the centre of attention. It is not their day, so to speak, and not their time to outshine the brides and grooms.

A moment later, the noblewoman steps up from the side to the carpet in front of the king. The sparkling diamonds on the low back of her dress catch the sun and Michael's eye, glittering delicately against the bright white folds. She half-turns to look down the aisle expectantly, a delighted smile on her face. Her fiery red hair is gathered in a neat braid down one shoulder, a few strands escaping to blow over her face. Silently, the archers notch their arrows and aim up.

“Fly!” Gavin orders, and the archers let fly their arrows in a perfect arc, each pair of arrows reaching their peaks before bursting into brilliant diamonds, the sun winking off of them as they fall.

They disappear mid-air just in time for the bride to walk down the aisle, her sweeping white gown brushing over the white petals scattered on the floor. A soft melody starts playing from somewhere and Michael loses sight of the bride through the crowd, but by the quiet murmuring, she's made quite the spectacular impression.

Michael can't hear Geoff very well over the buzzing of a bee that decides to circle him right then, and he focuses on keeping perfectly still until he can bat it away, cautiously leaning to his right to see the brides. The two archers at the front aim over the brides and draw and shoot again, this time the arrows melting into white rose petals that drift down over the newlywed couple as they kiss, a bouquet squished between them.

Everyone bursts into applause and the music fades into a lively, upbeat tune as the archers step into line again and march out, bows held firmly in their right hands and quivers empty. The moment the last one steps out, helpers appears from seemingly nowhere and help transform the space into a dance floor – Michael watches as the crowd clears a space for the makeshift ballroom. Geoff congratulates the brides with a wide grin and hearty handshakes, gesturing to the empty space before politely stepping back.

The music crescendoes into a spirited, vivacious tune, faint notes of a waltz underscoring it all, and the brides take first dance, a little clumsily falling into step but smiling brightly, hands linked together sweetly.

As more people gravitate to the floor, cheerful and joyful from the ceremony and the wine, Ryan slips out to stand beside Michael, pulling at his collar and setting his glass down on the edge of the flower pot.

“Sir?” Michael asks, careful to keep his voice professional and even.

“It's hot in the centre there,” Ryan says, glancing over at the dance floor now filled with swaying couples. “At least you have shade.”

“I also have full body diamond armour,” Michael deadpans, smiling at Ryan's quiet laugh. Ryan touches the rose in his button and gently pulls it out, curling his fingers around it until the stem elongates into its proper size, thornless and vivid green. He lays it down on the edge of the flower pot as well, carefully balancing it with his fingers.

“Keep it safe for me?” He asks, something almost _shy_ in his smile.

“Yes, sir,” Michael says automatically,

Geoff swings by almost out of nowhere, laying a hand on Ryan's arm and smiling at them as he adjusts his cape.

“Now, Ryan, I can't have you slipping off with your guard yet,” Geoff says. Ryan sighs and looks back at the court.

“I'm not one for this sort of thing,” he says.

“Yes, but it would look quite rude if the prince of the host kingdom were to disappear,” Geoff says, raising an eyebrow. “You have to at least dance with a few people.”

Then Geoff leans in a little, as if to make the conversation more private.

“I'm sorry, I know this isn't your fancy,” he says, lowering his voice. “I promise I'll dismiss you as soon as I can. Say you had too much wine.”

“Okay, then,” Ryan agrees reluctantly, waving a few fingers at Michael before letting Geoff whisk him away into conversation and dance.

–- 

Later, they're at the observatory tower again, looking out at the stars as festivities rise in the city far below, the jovial energy from the wedding carrying over into the night.

“Oh, I have this for you,” Michael says, pushing off of the railing to pull out the rose he kept in his pouch, presenting it to Ryan between two fingers. Ryan smiles and takes it with the hand not holding a star chart, still leaning on the railing as he hands it back a second later.

“It's for you,” he says, twirling it between his index finger and thumb. Michael reaches up to take it, closing his fingers around the stem. Something sparks between the brushing of their knuckles and judging by the way Ryan suddenly pulls back, it was real. Michael just grins and tucks the rose into the top of his breastplate, the petals soft against his neck.

They go back to comfortable silence, Ryan tracing out constellations with his finger as Michael crosses his wrists and looks down at the bright lights of the festival square. The heat is thinner in the dark hours close to midnight, not nearly as stifling as it had been during the ceremony. Michael's armour is less of an oven and removing helmet and gauntlets isn't quite a necessity now, but a luxury he still indulges in.

“It was a nice wedding,” Michael says after a while, his attention long pulled by the distracting movements of Ryan's finger, lighting up shimmering paths on the map.

“It was,” Ryan agrees. Michael curls his fingers around Ryan's wrist, pressing the pads of two of them to his pulse point. Ryan's heartbeat picks up a little when he turns to look at Michael.

Michael leans in to press his lips to Ryan's.

“I love you,” Michael murmurs. Ryan's pulse kicks up against his fingertips.

“Love you too,” Ryan replies in barely a whisper, reluctant to break away for even a second.

Michael feels more than a little giddy in this moment, sharing sweet kisses on the railing of the observatory tower as the faintest strains of jaunty music drift up to their ears. The stars twinkle beautifully above them but Michael can't quite tear his gaze away from the happy twinkle in Ryan's eyes between slow kisses.

Below them, far, _far_ below them, the lively crowd breaks into cheering and another song and dance.


	4. Chapter 4

Michael only moved to Consequor about twelve years ago, when he was still a teenager. The previous King Ramsey was still on the throne and Michael's parents built a bakery to run. While they kneaded dough and baked bread, Michael entered soldier training, moving out to guard quarters – landing a quirky archer as a hutmate and a few friendly faces as neighbours – and then quickly rising through the ranks as he got older, from squire to warrior to, eventually, royal guard.

The story goes that King Ramsey's son had set off from home a few years ago, restless and perhaps a little naïve, and had set his footsteps west and walked until he disappeared on the horizon. The kingdom knew he was still alive – he kept in touch with his family, sent letters and some small boxes of interesting things. He hadn't left on bad terms; in fact, it was the complete opposite. He merely wanted to explore the world before he had to take over Consequor, fill in his map a little more before he settled down.

When King Ramsey had gotten too old to rule effectively, he sent out word for his son, and when Michael was twenty, the prince returned with two friends in tow. The castle staff say that it was a happy reunion, and King Ramsey passed away in his sleep a couple of years later to follow his wife, who had moved on five years previous.

Then Geoff took the throne, following in his father's footsteps and keeping good hold over the city, working hard to re-cement trade deals and cross-kingdom relations, and by the time Michael was twenty-four he had been promoted to royal guard, going from the training ground to the castle walls, patrolling in a group of four around the perimeter ever so often.

Michael remembers the first time he saw Ryan – the prince had wandered down to the training grounds, young and clean-shaven and seemingly fascinated by the weapons rack, running his fingers over the sharp edge of a diamond blade, across the smooth flat of an axe. Michael had just walked back to return a dagger and Ryan picked it up the moment he set it down, testing the grip in his hand and the balance of it on his finger.

“You handle it quite impressively,” he had said to Michael, smiling up at him with oh-so-blue eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” Michael had replied, glancing at the private guard standing a few lengths back, her hand on her hilt and her eyes fixed on Michael.

Ryan had flipped the knife in his grip and stepped forward to the rough wooden fence enclosing the practice arena – this late in the day there was hardly anyone there, only Michael and a few others milling around. And with nary a waver, Ryan had raised the knife and tossed it across the small arena, sinking it straight into the heart of a sand dummy ten paces away. And with a pleased hum and a polite farewell to Michael, he left, sweeping past with his guard and disappearing into the royal armoury. Michael was already a little bit in love.

As the city settled into Geoff's rule, he settled into it. He named Ryan as his successor and Jack as a main advisor, and two years later, Michael found himself upgraded to private detail for the prince. Jeremy was still on the training grounds, and the prince's other guard was a fierce lady who taught Michael everything he knows about the castle. The secret passageways and the trick to not getting lost in the winding, windowless hallways of below ground.

She left for better things two years after that – to travel, she said, explore the world a little, maybe dabble in witchcraft or mob-hunting. And then Jeremy ranked up and, previously a guy Michael only really knew through training and the occasional patrol, became one of his closest friends.

Four years on, not much has changed, save for Michael's relationship with one particular prince.

–-

“Okay, we'll try this one,” Ryan says, stirring an eerily violet potion with a small iron rod before corking it, turning to Michael and Edgar.

Ryan's trying to formulate a potion that will make Edgar visible _and_ audible to Michael, and none of the four they've tried so far has worked. Michael crosses his arms and looks again to where Edgar is – or where Ryan tells Michael he is.

Ryan slams the splash potion down and backs up a step as glass shatters everywhere. Nothing happens for a moment, the violet liquid soaking into obsidian and a few tendrils of purple smoke drifting up. Then -

“...the fuck is the point if I can't suck a dick?”

Ryan doesn't answer and Michael's mouth parts a little as he looks at – at _Edgar_ , ghostly and tinted blue but _there_. Edgar turns to him and sighs.

“He can totally see me now, can't he?”

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, his fingers itching to _touch_ , itching to know if Edgar's still as cold as the first time they touched.

Edgar's floating only a few inches off the ground, dressed in plain cloth trousers and a plain cloth shirt, thick black metal frames for his glasses. He looks completely ordinary, if translucent and if not for the huge, bloody gash ripped down the left side of his chest, his shirt torn and stained dark and if Michael squints he can see a disgusting hint of rib buried in the deep cut. There's bruises creeping up one side of Edgar's neck, surely sprawled wide under his shirt.

“Sorry, didn't have a chance to clean up before I bled out,” Edgar deadpans, plucking at the cloth near his wound. It sticks to the blood, parting with a faint wet sound that reminds Michael of unsticking glue. Edgar's younger than Michael thought – he knows Ryan said about his age, but he really _does_ look Michael's age, complete with messy hair and a scruffy jaw.

“Sounds like time for a proper introduction,” Ryan says, gesturing between them with a wide smile, clearly pleased at what he's done. “Edgar, this is Michael. Michael, Edgar.”

“I know who he is,” Edgar scoffs, holding out a fist nonetheless. “He's the fucking guy you've been pining over for two years.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says, flushing slightly. Michael laughs and bumps Edgar's fist – he doesn't know where Edgar's from, but this seems to be his preferred physical greeting. He gets the distinct sense that Edgar is far from nobility, not raised with the royal manners Ryan was and that Michael was trained with. It honestly relieves Michael a little bit that he's not a ghost of some stuffy old royal brat, just a regular guy with unkempt hair and worn clothes. Discounting the bloody slice wrenched down his side, of course.

“I don't know much about you,” Michael says, raising an eyebrow. “Where are you from?”

“Some fucking – hunting village in the north,” Edgar says with a dismissive wave. “They mostly sold bear pelts and such. Some mob shit.”

“He's from Thil,” Ryan supplies, and Michael sucks in a shocked breath.

“ _What_?” He asks, looking between them. “ _Thil_?!”

Thil isn't just some _hunting village in the north_ – it was _the_ centre of exotic skins and pelts, thick furs from the cold weather bears and tanned creeper skin from the dangerous east. It was a small place, yes, but vital for those sorts of ingredients. And fifty – forty-nine – years ago, it was overrun by an ugly mesh of furious mobs – zombies and skeletons and endermen and creepers and packs of wolves – and the result was an enormous massacre. The way it's told, no one survived. And no one's dared go back since.

“You – Did you - “ Michael stutters, gesturing wildly at Edgar.

“Nah, dude, I was gone by then,” Edgar says. “Thil was kind of boring if you weren't into skinning animals. And the forest is pretty fucking overrated. Also the guards didn't like me much.”

“Thil didn't take kindly to petty thieves,” Ryan supplies, grinning at Edgar's eyeroll.

“Oh,” Michael whispers. “Then how did you – if you weren't - ?”

“Oh, no, I'm just a fucking idiot,” Edgar replies, cracking a smile at Michael's confusion. “Got lost in the forest and then got shanked by a zombie.”

“Sucks,” Michael offers. Edgar laughs and nods.

“How did you end up here?” Michael asks with a frown. He thought ghosts were tethered to their resting places, or at least to their bodies.

“First place I came across,” Edgar says, glancing at Ryan now. “Was about to fucking ditch when this guy moved in. Turned out he could actually – interact or whatever with me, so I stayed.”

“I thought you were – tied to your body,” Michael says, pinching his brows together. Edgar and Ryan laugh.

“That's a myth,” Ryan says.

“Yeah man, I can go anywhere,” Edgar adds. “Hey Ry, how long does this potion last?”

“About twenty minutes,” Ryan says, and gestures to a bottle behind him. “But I've got another batch if you want.”

“Sweet, that's just enough time to tell all your embarrassing stories.”

“Edgar - “

“So, Michael, you know how netherwart burns human skin?”

Michael nods and Ryan holds his head in his hands.

“Well guess who didn't know that,” Edgar continues, and grins at Ryan's resigned groan.

Edgar speaks in the rougher, plainer way of the north, unlike what Michael's used to and quite unlike the rest of Geoff's kingdom, but it seems humour is still much the same across the lands, and Michael's wheezing with laughter not ten minutes in. He gets to tell some stories of his own, and he never thought it would be so easy with a forty-nine year old _ghost_. In fact, Michael's swiftly learning a lot about ghosts, and he can't help but think he's going to come to like this _Edgar_  a lot.

–- 

According to the chatter among the royal guards, starting from Matt and ending at Michael, the king from Hylume is visiting next week, and it's got the king on an edge sharper than Michael's blade.

Hylume is their main source for wool - all colours, too, rich and soft and spun into delicate yarns that adorn the shelves at the cloth merchants'. Except their king is a little...impersonable.

It's not that King Julio isn't a _good_ king, - in fact, Hylume is one of the most well-run kingdoms around - it's just that he - well, he isn't quite as accepting as Geoff, or most of the other kingdoms, to be fair. He would never officiate a wedding like the one Geoff did only two weeks previous.

Michael's heard more than a few...colourful rants about the guy on the other side of a bolted door, when Geoff is stirred up enough to go complain to Ryan. Heard Geoff bemoaning the necessity of this wool trade and of _tradition_. Whenever Julio visits Geoff's always tense, and when he leaves Geoff's notorious among the royal guards for taking out his anger on his furniture.

The thing about King Julio is, well, he wouldn't quite _approve_ of Michael's and Ryan's relationship. And it's not the royal blood - or lack of - that bothers him.

A bottle shatters in the basement and Michael winces on the other side of the door, pressing his ear to the wood again to listen. Look, he never said he was a goody-two-shoes guard.

"I need to host a dinner for him, at least!" Geoff exclaims. "It would be rude otherwise!"

“And we need the business,” Ryan says, more calmly.

“And we need the business,” Geoff sighs. And a moment later, “Sorry about breaking that.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“He's such a fucking _cunt_ , though! I don't fucking _wanna_ host his pompous ass!”

“Geoff, it's okay, it's just a dinner.”

Geoff groans loudly and something thumps inside the room. He starts to speak again but the door the basement hallway slams open and Michael whirls to face forward, back straight and helmet rapidly tugged on as two guards march in. The sash around their waist is dyed a deep, majestic purple with a scarlet circle stuck through the knot as decoration. Michael automatically curls his lip. Julio's guards.

Michael knows, logically and from visits to Hylume, that Julio is the smallest minority of narrow-minded assholes in that kingdom, and his people are infinitely more sensible than him in regards to who marries whom.

Still, sometimes it's hard to separate king's people from king when said king spent half of last year's dinner making snide, imperious comments to deliberately make Geoff's two guards uncomfortable and distressed simply because one of them changed genders and the other is married to two other people.

The guards stop short in front of Michael, politely inclining their heads to him. He does the same but keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword. There's a shout from inside the basement but Michael doesn't worry – the basement is soundproof to everyone but Geoff, Jack, Ryan, Michael, and Jeremy.

“Is your king in there?” One of the guards asks.

“Depends,” Michael says, looking closely at them.

“King Julio wishes an audience with him,” the other adds. “And he wishes it sooner rather than later.”

Michael squints at them behind his visor and slowly takes his hand off his sword, banging his fist against the door twice.

“What?” Geoff calls irritably.

“King Julio wishes to speak with you,” Michael calls back, not taking his eyes off the guards. “Now.”

Geoff groans loudly again and Michael hears shuffling footsteps approaching the door. He steps to the side and Geoff opens the door, looking every part the regal king he is and nothing like the whiny teenager Michael heard through the door earlier.

“Call my guard, would you, Michael?” Geoff says, smiling pleasantly at the guards. Michael turns to the other end of the hallway and whistles sharply. A second later he hears the clanking of diamond armour as Geoff's two guards round the corner, marching quickly to them. Geoff smiles at them and then at Julio's guard before he gestures down the hallway.

“Lead the way,” he instructs. Julio's guards turn and start walking – Geoff falls into step behind them and rolls his eyes at Michael before following, his guards close behind him. Michael lets himself smile at the clear reluctance and turns back to the open door to close it.

“Come in,” Ryan says when Michael's hand lands on the doorknob. Michael hesitates, glancing the door already swinging shut at the end of the hallway. Fuck it.

Michael steps in and pulls the door shut behind him, taking off his helmet and gauntlets as Ryan bolts the door with a gesture. Ryan's standing over his cauldron, pouring a murky red liquid into the bubbling yellow potion.

“I take it Geoff is not particularly pleased about this visit,” Michael says. Ryan huffs out a laugh and sets his bottle down, letting the cauldron simmer as he places the lid on top of it. There's a fresh cluster of flowers blooming from the cracks in the floor, under the shelf with a collection of that flower potion on it. Michael looks at it and Ryan gestures lamely to it.

“That's what broke,” he explains. A bright dahlia pokes out between two pink roses and Ryan nudges it with his foot. Michael hums in acknowledgment and Ryan steps over to him, offering a lopsided smile before taking Michael's hand in his and raising it to brush his lips over Michael's knuckles. Michael flushes a little and his fingers twitch in Ryan's grip.

“My mother always told me to be wary of princes looking to have their wicked ways with me,” he teases, curling his fingers around Ryan's hand.

“Did she?” Ryan asks, an amused smile cutting into his cheek as he presses another soft kiss to Michael's knuckles. Michael chuckles.

“Nah, but she did she always tell me to heed a ladies' word,” he says. Ryan laughs breathlessly and leans in to kiss Michael. His palm is unduly warm against Michael's.

“Do you have any finery?” Ryan asks, kissing the corner of Michael's mouth.

“No, why?” Michael asks, snickering at the ticklish brush of Ryan's scruff against his cheek.

“Hm, we shall have to get you some,” Ryan says. “Geoff wishes for you to escort me to the dinner with Julio.”

“He does?” Michael asks, pulling away to look up at Ryan with a cocked eyebrow.

“I wish it, too,” Ryan says, lowering Michael's hand. “It would make the affair far less tiresome.”

“But Julio is - “ _hateful_ , Michael wants to say. _Unaccepting_.

“That is also part of it, I confess,” Ryan sighs. A hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. “Geoff would like to see how polite Julio can remain in such...stupid discomfort. If he can keep face as a businessman should.”

“In that case, Prince Haywood, I would gladly escort you to a royal dinner,” Michael says with a grin, laughing when Ryan rolls his eyes.

“The pleasure's all mine,” Ryan replies, stealing another kiss before returning to his cauldron. 

–- 

On Michael's next day off, he goes out with Gavin to the market, keeping hold of his satchel as Gavin flits from stall to stall, oohing and aahing over new armour pieces and shining weapons. Michael laughs with him at the ridiculously coloured helmets and pokes curiously at strange flowers the next stall over, picks up an endless jar of cold southern wind and purchases it with the sole purpose to open it in Gavin's face.

After their stint at the market, they head by the tavern for a quick lunch with Lindsay and Trevor, and soon after they return home Michael packs up a bag and heads out again to the castle – but _not_ before teasing Gavin mercilessly about the enchanted bow he bought. Enchanted to _shrink_ , and neither Gavin nor Michael have any idea how to get it back to its normal size. Gavin waves him off with “it can't be that hard, can it?” and Michael shuts the door to the sound of strained grunting as Gavin tries to physically break the enchantment.

At the castle, Michael carefully avoids the busy hallways and hands Jeremy a pouch of food he bought from the tavern before slipping into Ryan's room. He calls out for him and the answering shout reveals Ryan's in the bathroom, so Michael sets down his satchel and sits down on Ryan's bed to wait.

“So, what do we think?”

At the sound of Ryan's voice Michael looks up to see him in the doorframe of the bathroom, leaning up against one side with one foot propped up on the other, knee bent. He levels Michael with a cool stare and Michael can't help the surprised laughter that bubbles up in his chest. Ryan's wearing a thin white shirt, unbuttoned and open, but what really makes the outfit is the red and green _kilt_ he's wearing, just short of knee length and draped over his raised thigh. Michael kind of doesn't want to admit that Ryan somehow makes that outfit look _good_.

“I...think – where did you even _get_ that, Ryan?” Michael asks. Ryan laughs warmly and lowers his leg to walk over to Michael.

“Geoff thought he was funny,” Ryan says, stopping just in front of Michael so he can reach out and touch the fabric. It's coarser than his other clothes, but not as thick as Michael imagined. He shakes his head in disbelief and Ryan suddenly knees onto the bed, pushing Michael down on his back and cocking an eyebrow as he braces himself on his hands. Michael laughs and drags a hand down Ryan's naked front, running it around to his back and pulling him down for a kiss. One of his thighs is between Ryan's own, the kilt falling down on it as Ryan eagerly kisses back, his back arching ever-so-slightly as Michael's hand skates down the curve of his spine.

Michael gladly returns Ryan's enthusiasm, a little desperate for more than casual touch – it's been weeks since they've had time to _do_ anything, and Michael easily opens his mouth under Ryan's insistence, moving his hands down to Ryan's hips to squeeze them. Ryan sighs into his mouth and scrapes his teeth over Michael's bottom lip, making it tender and swollen to the touch.

Michael makes a pleased noise between them and drops his hands even further to grip Ryan's thighs, sliding up under the kilt to dig his fingers into bare skin. Ryan's hips rock forward and Michael grins as he runs his hands up, and _up_ , expecting any moment to meet underwear but -

“Oh gods,” he whispers. Ryan smirks and laughs breathlessly against his mouth.

“Tradition,” he breathes, sinking his teeth into Michael's lip again.

Michael shifts his hands up to Ryan's ass and squeezes filthily, drawing a quiet moan from the prince and a sharp buck of his hips. Michael bends his knee to bring his thigh up more and roughly tugs Ryan down, the hot line of him evident against Michael's thigh through kilt and trousers. Ryan groans raggedly and thrusts down – Michael encourages him with the hands on his ass and muttered praise, kissed back to quiet by the prince a few minutes later.

“Hm – fuck, wanted to do this after dinner,” Ryan says, breaking the kiss to mouth messily at Michael's jaw, careful to not leave any marks. “Gods, _Michael_.”

“Who says we can't?” Michael teases, eyeing the tense line of Ryan's shoulders. One of Ryan's arms gives way and he crashes down onto his elbows, panting harshly against Michael's throat as his hips stutter and jolt. Not a handful of breaths later and a patch of the kilt grows hot and wet next to Michael's thigh, dampening a small spot on his trousers as Ryan trembles and huffs out his name.

Michael helps him come down with slow kisses and murmured affection, removing his hands to run them over other parts of Ryan's body, sweep one down his back and the other over his cheek as the slow kisses turn lazy.

The more... _insistent_ part of Michael that's demanding attention at the moment is becoming quite hard to ignore, and he's about to ask Ryan to do something about it when Ryan pulls away and shimmies off of the bed, landing with a dull thud on his knees and yanking Michael down the bed until his hips are at the edge. Michael hastily pushes himself up on his hands just in time to watch Ryan tug down the waist of his trousers and underwear, glancing up for only a moment before resting the head of Michael's cock on his lower lip. Michael inhales shakily and Ryan sinks down with no warning, dragging out a rough groan from Michael's throat.

It's quick and neat and – _gods_ , hotter than it has any right to be, and Michael struggles to keep his hips still as Ryan sucks, one hand firm around Michael's base and the other a burning, comforting presence on his thigh. When the heat of Ryan's palm grows too painful Michael clumsily grabs his wrist and urges it away – Ryan plants his hand on Michael's other thigh instead, the cloth dampening the too-hot touch of his hands. Michael runs a hand gracelessly through Ryan's hair and bites down hard on his lip as Ryan teases around a particularly sensitive spot. The sounds of Ryan's mouth are _filthy_ down there, lewd and wet and never what Michael would have imagined from a _prince_ of all people.

Before long Michael's too close to imagine anything at all, gasping and grunting as Ryan sinks down _far_ and swallows, bringing him to the edge with smooth rolls of his tongue. Michael chokes out a warning and Ryan pulls up enough to focus on the head, humming pleasantly around him. A broken moan wrenches itself from Michael's throat as he comes, hanging his head and shutting his eyes as his hips jerk in poorly-restrained thrusts.

He feels the faint undulation of Ryan's tongue as he swallows before Ryan lets him slip out of his mouth, rising up on his knees and fisting a hand in Michael's shirt to pull him down. Michael moans quietly as Ryan sweeps his tongue over Michael's, leaning slightly into the hand Michael tangles in his hair.

Eventually they have to separate, each of them panting lightly in the scant space between their mouths but making no other move to stand.

“You ruined the kilt,” Ryan says. Michael laughs and rests his forehead against Ryan's, eyes still closed.

“You encouraged me to,” he replies, relaxing his grip in Ryan's hair to slide his hand down to Ryan's cheek, resting his thumb just below Ryan's lower lip. “When's this dinner?”

“Couple hours. We should get you into your clothes.” Ryan pulls back to stand up, offering a hand to Michael, who takes a quick moment to tuck himself in again.

“So, where is this mysterious new finery?” Michael asks as Ryan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Ryan grins and waves open a chest – inside Michael can see a hint of white linen.

“Go find out yourself,” Ryan says, leaving Michael with the chest as he disappears back into the bathroom.

–-

Michael feels awkward in his clothes, much fancier and much more delicate than he's used to. He tugs at the uncomfortably tight collar and clears his throat nervously, eyes locked on the floor as he shuffles on his feet. In front of him, Ryan's wearing his finery much better, a soft linen shirt stretched across his shoulders and neat black trousers falling to his smart brown boots. There's a green sash tied expertly around his hips over his belt.

Michael's dressed, a lot less confidently, in a similar outfit, pinching the sharp crease of his collar to smooth it out. Ryan steps forward and tugs his hands away, popping open the top button of Michael's shirt and tightening the sash, adjusting it so the excess length falls beside Michael's left thigh.

“There,” Ryan says, stepping back to take in the outfit again. Michael rolls his eyes.

“I look like a fucking idiot, Ryan, let's just go.”

Ryan frowns and plucks at the crease near Michael's shoulder.

“I think you look quite dapper,” he counters, sweeping his fingers up to Michael's chin and gently tipping it up until Michael's eyes are forced to meet his. Michael finds nothing but sincerity in Ryan's expression. Ryan suddenly glances over Michael's shoulder and cracks a smile.

“Edgar thinks so, too,” he says. “Trust me.”

Michael nods and Ryan's hand falls away to reach for a pair of roses on the chest of drawers.

Ryan carefully presses one to the left side of Michael's shirt, where a jacket lapel would be, murmuring a spell while Michael watches. The stem shrinks into the bloom and with a few gentle presses of Ryan's fingers, the rose is stuck in place as if it grew there of its own accord. The second rose, bigger and fuller, is placed over the knot in Michael's sash, the stem again disappearing as it attaches itself to the knot. Ryan replicates the placement on himself, flicking his lapel rose with one finger and grinning when it stays.

“I don't usually see many others wearing roses to dinners,” Michael remarks, brushing his fingers over the velvet petals. “Is there a significance to them?”

Ryan grins and touches the one by Michael's hip.

“This one is out of respect to the king when there's visitors,” he says. “One of Geoff's little traditions.”

“What about this one?” Michael asks, dragging a thumb around the base of the lapel rose.

“They mean you're in love,” Ryan says, reaching up to touch Michael's rose. “Always wear a rose over your heart.”

“Another one of Geoff's traditions?”

Ryan shakes his head and a small smile curves up the corner of his mouth.

“A tradition from my hometown,” he says, moving his fingers to Michael's. “I always thought it was a sweet one.”

Michael can't help the small, breathless chuckles that leaves him.

“So as soon as you fall in love you wear a rose? Forever?” Michael asks.

“Worn until marriage, usually. Or until you're no longer in love,” Ryan replies, leaning in to brush a kiss over Michael's cheekbone. Michael smiles and reaches out to finger Ryan's rose.

“I like that,” he says. “It is sweet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I got 'Consequor' from a bunch of googling about Latin and decided that conjugation sounded like a name, so. There's not much science to it apart from that 'consqeuor' is a conjugation of a Latin word that means 'to achieve'. 
> 
> Also I'm sorry about the awkward ending to this chapter, but I wanted the next two scenes to be together and I couldn't put them in this chapter because that would be even more awkward. At least, to me.
> 
> Hey, I commissioned some art from [rysarts]() on Tumblr! It's Ryan's outfit for the dinner - go check it out [here](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com/post/164868370927/this-isextremely-late-because-i-kept-forgetting)! Go give them some appreciation!


	5. Chapter 5

Having Jeremy walking behind him is a comfort to Michael as they head to the dining room, armour clanking familiarly as they turn down massive hallways.

When they approach the door Ryan politely greets the two guards in front of it, thanking them when they step aside to let them in. Against his instinct to avert his eyes – honed by guarding and by training – Michael forces himself to face forward, silently following Ryan's lead.

No one's sitting down yet, all chatting in small little foursomes, lords and ladies and kings and nobles alike, nothing like Michael's usual crowd. He glances back at Jeremy, who's taken his post against the wall, and the slight nod he gets is somewhat of a comfort. He glances back around the room and catches Geoff's quick smile at him – that's a little more reassuring.

Ryan reaches up and squeezes his forearm, guiding him gently over to a group. They greet Ryan fondly and Michael politely, shaking his hand and exchanging 'how-do-you-do's.

“You look lovely, Elyse,” Ryan says.

“Not so bad yourself, Haywood,” she replies, nudging his elbow. Ryan laughs and Michael gets a little distracted by the ruffled pleats on her shirt, falling neatly over a pair of tight trousers.

“So where are you from?” The voice breaks Michael out of his reverie and he snaps his head up to look at the man questioning him. He's got startlingly bright eyes – almost as blue as Ryan's.

“Oh, uh, I'm from Lond,” Michael says, running the last few minutes through his mind to try and remember this guy's name. He's not from Julio's kingdom but he's not from Consequor, either – the orange sash is from one of their allies, a kingdom not too far to the east. “Sir.”

The guy laughs and shakes his head. “Please, call me James.” _Lord Willem_ _s_ , that's right. Michael almost kicks himself.

“James, right.” Michael swallows the cotton in his mouth and tries a smile. “You're from Iocor, yes?”

James' mouth quirks up.

“It's okay, I can tell you're not exactly – used to this,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “Personally I'm not really one for such snobbish manners – just mind your tongue around Julio.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Michael breathes – then freezes, suddenly afraid he's stepped too far too fast – but James laughs brightly and claps a hand on his shoulder. Michael grins.

“ - and then it just kind of happened.” Ryan's hand appears on Michael's arm again, diverting attention to his and Elyse's conversation.

“What?” Michael asks dumbly. Elyse laughs and loops her arm through her husband's.

“Us,” Ryan says simply, tugging Michael a little closer. “Kind of sudden, right?”

Michael's first instinct is to agree, make this as smooth as possible, but -

“Please, like you weren't pulling petals for me,” Michael teases, and earns himself a round of loud laughter from the Willems' and a playful pinch from Ryan.

“That's the Ryan I know,” Elyse says. “Hopeless romantic.”

“Hey, it worked, didn't it?”

A loud clap erupts from the table and everyone falls silent to look to Geoff, who's standing at the head of the table. A moment later the silence breaks into last words and everyone starts flocking to the table. Ryan sits down almost at the opposite end of the table, Michael next to him, and Julio sits on the other side to Geoff's right, a few seats up.

While Geoff makes a quick, bullshit speech - “I'm so happy to host the wonderful King Julio”, “Let us toast to his prosperity and longevity” - Michael studies the cutlery in front of him, trying to figure out if that goblet is his or if _that_ one is. While everyone applauds politely Michael leans slightly to Ryan.

“Ryan, I don't know how to use any of this,” he murmurs.

“Just follow my lead,” Ryan murmurs back. “Doesn't really matter anyway.”

Geoff sits down again and everyone breaks into chatter again – hearty laughter from Geoff bursts from the head of the table. Next to Ryan, at the other head of the table, is Jack, already reaching forward to pour himself some wine. He offers it to Ryan, who declines, and then to Michael, who accepts.

Across from Ryan and Michael are two nobles from Julio's court – uninterested in talking, it seems, or in any conversation past the obligatory hello. They strike up a discussion with the other nobles of Julio's court next to them and Ryan and Michael leave them be. Maids come in with plates of food and set them down along the table – following Ryan's cue, Michael starts filling his plate.

“Ryan, did Geoff tell you why he wanted you two here?” Jack asks after a mouthful of beef, gesturing to both of them.

“Oh trust me, I know,” Ryan replies, pouring himself some water and sitting back to eat. “The man is wicked, Jack.”

“Better hope Julio doesn't come after you,” Jack says with a thread of laughter in his voice.

“I'm pretty sure I'm safe - I've got one of my guards right next to me,” Ryan says, smiling at Michael.

“You say that like I didn't see you hide a knife inside your boot when you got dressed,” Michael deadpans – Jack breaks into loud laughter and Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Doesn't hurt to be prepared,” he mumbles, digging into his vegetables. “Fuck me for trying to compliment you.”

“Maybe I will, later.”

“Do it right on this table and you could probably cut the trade deal right now,” Jack offers helpfully. Michael laughs into his goblet and nods. He feels comfortable enough around Jack – he hasn't had many interactions with the man, but the few times he has Jack has been easily welcoming and friendly, and Michael likes the guy for keeping it simple.

“Question, Jack,” Ryan says through a mouthful of potato, pointing his knife at Jack. “Question. How quickly do you think we could tank this deal?”

“Oh man, I don't know,” Jack says thoughtfully. “Five minutes?”

“One minute,” Michael butts in, swallowing his food before explaining. “Less if all three of us start making out.”

“You offering?” Jack asks with a chuckle. Ryan raises an eyebrow and leans back in his seat, looking between them.

“Look man, I don't wanna stop you if that's what you want,” he says. “You guys go for it.”

Michael and Jack laugh and they all fall into comfortable conversation, trading insults and jokes alike, from how much is on Michael's fucking plate - “There's dessert, why are you going back for seconds?” “I'm fucking hungry, Ryan.” - to how much food Jack could, theoretically, store in his beard - “I figure I could get a good chunk of bread in there.” “Or just soak it in soup.” “Gross, Michael.” - and whatever tension Michael felt about this dinner melts with the wine in his mouth.

The real challenge, Michael knows, will be in the drinks after dessert, when there's more meeting-and-greeting, and Michael has little doubt that Geoff'll introduce them to Julio.

–- 

Geoff invites them all into a drawing room after dessert. Michael can still taste the rich sponge of the cake on his tongue when he stands, laughing at the sad little glance Ryan shoots at his empty plate.

“We can get more later,” Michael says, inclining his head to Jack, who leaves with a handshake to go help Geoff out with Julio.

“Yeah, but,” Ryan sighs, tearing his gaze away to lead Michael to the side door. “It was so good.”

In the drawing room Michael beelines for the tray of drinks and snatches up two glasses of something blue and bubbly before bringing it back to Ryan.

“I don't know what the fuck this is,” he says in a low voice as he hands it over. Ryan laughs and clinks their glasses together.

“One of Geoff's party favourites,” Ryan says, swirling the glass. “I'd suggest you drink it quickly. It has a sting to it.” And with no further ado he downs his – Michael swiftly follows suit, the liquid cool and refreshing on his tongue. There's no bite of alcohol in it, but it's not exactly sweet, either.

“It's not – holy _shit_ ,” Michael wheezes, his tongue _crackling_ with the tart zing of whatever-the-fuck-that-was. Ryan chuckles at him and takes his glass, leaving it on a nearby table.

“ - and this is my best sorcerer, Prince Haywood,” Geoff says, turning Ryan around with a hand on his shoulder. Ryan automatically holds out his hand to shake and Michael straightens in the sudden presence of King Julio. “Ryan, this is King Julio,” Geoff adds.

“Hello,” Julio says, extending a slim hand to shake.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ryan says, smiling politely. Julio turns to Michael.

“And this is?” He asks, eyes flicking between Michael and Ryan's matching outfits.

“This is Michael,” Ryan answers. Michael quickly outstretches his hand to shake and finds Julio's grip firm.

“A pleasure, I'm sure,” Julio says, turning back to Ryan. “I've heard a lot about you from your king,” he continues. “Seems you have concocted some quite impressive potions.”

Ryan starts talking with Julio, with interjection from Geoff every so often and silence from Michael – he has nothing to contribute, and he instead he just nods politely every so often and admires the rich purple of Julio's sash, scarlet circle tucked into the knot. 

“I hear you are yet married, Ryan,” Julio says. “May I call you Ryan?”

“Please do.”

“I happen to know a few princesses if you wish me to introduce you.”

Geoff chuckles awkwardly and Ryan subtly plants a hand on Michael's back, urging him to step closer.

“Thank you, but I'm already taken,” Ryan says, his smile almost challenging. “Michael's more than enough for me.”

Julio's expression falls for a second before he covers it, smiling blandly at them. Geoff steps back a little so he isn't seen by Julio and grins smugly at them. Julio scoffs.

“Surely, Geoff, you cannot expect two kings to take the throne?”

Geoff shrugs and steps back into his line of sight. “I don't see why not, especially if they are both capable. As Ryan and Michael are.” It's a silent dare. Julio rises to the bait.

“Well, it's not – right, is it?” He asks innocently. “It goes against a rather tried and true tradition.”

“What tradition?”

“That of king and queen.”

Geoff smiles, all teeth. Michael's struggles to keep his expression innocent.

“That particular tradition does not run in my kingdom,” Geoff says, squaring his shoulders. “The throne goes to the best person for the job, regardless of their personal lives.”

“But personal becomes public once they ascend to power,” Julio replies with a similarly sharp smile. He glances at Michael. “And for one's...partner to not even be of royal blood – well, Geoff, you can see the issue.” He spreads his hands, palms-up, between them. Geoff crosses his arms.

“No, I don't,” he says firmly. Michael sees Ryan's jaw flex.

“Let us drink to good cheer!” Jack steps into their little confrontation and raises a glass, successfully breaking the standoff and gathering the crowd into a round of hip-hip-hurrays that pull all the attention in the room.

Michael notices the displeased twist of Geoff's mouth as he regards the back of Julio's head. Julio glances over and Ryan deliberately takes the chance to kiss Michael's cheek – chastely, softly, quicker than the pecks shared between lords and ladies around them – and Michael can hear Julio's slight scoff from here.

–- 

“He couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut!” Geoff yells, later, running his hands through his hair as he paces Ryan's basement. “He _had_ to speak!”

“Geoff - “

“No, this is good, this is good!” Geoff says, almost giddily, turning to face Ryan and Michael. “If he breaks this deal, it reflects badly on _him_ , not us.”

“I suppose,” Michael says with a shrug. “Him and his fucking _traditions_.”

Geoff plants his hands on the table and leans in, his tone suddenly serious.

“Hey, guys, you know that I, like, totally don't give a shit who you fuck, right?” He asks. Ryan laughs and tips his chair back on two feet.

“You're so sweet, Geoff,” he teases, balling up the sash he removed minutes ago and launching it at Geoff's face.

“Shut up,” Geoff grouses, tossing the sash right back at Ryan. “But you guys know that, right? Julio's a piece of shit for saying all that.”

“Yes, we know that somewhere deep down, you secretly care about us, Geoff,” Ryan says. And more seriously, “Yeah, we know.”

Michael nods in agreement and slides his feet off the table, scooting his chair forward. Geoff nods decisively and goes back to pacing, twisting his hands in front of him.

“If he breaks the deal then we need a new source for wool,” Geoff says, idly cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “Ryan, can you talk to Jack about that? I think he's got a few plots mapped out.”

“We're raising sheep now?” Ryan asks incredulously, glancing over at Michael. “Geoff, are you sure we have - “

“Yeah, why not? We have the resources for it – I've checked.” Geoff pauses and scratches his cheek, staring at a blank spot on the wall. “We'll need to pull in helpers before we officially start up. I'll talk to Matt about using some of the patrol guards. Perhaps the archers would be good, too.”

“Want me to talk to Gavin about it?” Ryan asks. He _is_ in charge of the archers, after all. Geoff shakes his head.

“No, no, I'll talk to him,” he says. Ryan cocks an eyebrow.

“You're quite fond of him.”

“Shut up.”

Ryan shrugs and Michael makes a mental note to ask Gavin about this later.

“We'll start it up, but we won't sell anything until Julio pulls out,” Geoff says. “Just keep it under wraps – say it's my personal sheep paddock or whatever, fuck it.”

“Personal paddock?” Michael asks with a raised eyebrow, trying his best not to laugh. “Are you sure that's the best way to put it?”

“Shut up, I'm the king,” Geoff says with a dismissive wave. Ryan laughs and shakes his head.

–- 

“Tell me more about your hometown,” Michael says later that night, lying beside Ryan in his bed, but with unfortunate space between them because it's too hot to touch.

“There's not much to tell,” Ryan says with a shrug, shoving a hand under his head as he looks up at the ceiling. “It was a small town in the west. Mostly exported fruit.”

“Sounds better than mine already.”

Ryan snorts and glances at Michael.

“I suppose,” he allows. “It's more peaceful than Lond. Quiet.”

“So, what, itchin' to get out of small town life?” Michael asks.

“No,” Ryan says. “I liked it well enough. Mostly helped out with my parents' apple orchard. Became a potionmaster's apprentice at sixteen.”

“But you're a sorcerer,” Michael says with a frown. “I mean, surely that was strange, to do magic with your hands.”

“It's quite common in the west,” Ryan replies. Michael makes a surprised noise and drums his fingers on his chest.

“Dark, terrible secret, then?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at the ceiling. “Had to run away to protect your family?”

Ryan laughs again and shakes his head.

“No, nothing like that. My life really wasn't that exciting.” He shifts to look at Michael and a playful grins pulls up the side of his mouth. “I know you were starting streetrat fights before you learnt to read, but I actually had a normal childhood.”

“Shut up,” Michael scolds, lightly kicking Ryan's shin. “Lond's not that rough.”

Ryan cocks a sceptical eyebrow.

“Okay, so it is,” Michael admits. “Fuck you.”

Ryan doesn't comment, just gives Michael a wry smile and turns back to the ceiling.

“Geoff came by,” Ryan says, “Took a job with the strawberry farmers.”

“Geoff worked on a farm?” Michael asks incredulously.

“Geoff worked on a farm,” Ryan confirms. “And – well, we were close in age, and in a place like that everyone knows everyone, so it wasn't hard to find out who the new guy was, especially someone like Geoff.”

Michael nods – he can understand what Ryan's saying; Geoff's got a certain jaunty charisma about him, strangely magnetic even with his sometimes odd mannerisms.

“And we became friends,” Ryan says. “And a few years later, we left.”

“Why? Did you know who he was?”

“Gods, no, I had no idea he was a prince,” Ryan scoffs. “He just – seemed fun. He wanted to explore. And I did, too.”

“What about Jack?” Michael asks. Ryan scoots his hand over to grab Michael's, easily linking their fingers.

“Geoff already knew him from earlier travels,” Ryan says. “And when we left my hometown we went to his. He hadn't left with Geoff the first time.”

“But?”

Ryan's mouth tenses a little and he blinks.

“But that's his story to tell,” he says, a certain finality in his tone. Michael nods and Ryan tugs on his hand to urge him closer – Michael shimmies over to Ryan's side to lay shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Ryan's palm grows too warm and Michael yanks his hand away, laying it on his own chest.

“Too damn hot,” he grumbles.

“Sorry,” Ryan apologises, lacing his hands together over his ribs. Michael shakes his head and turns to press a kiss to Ryan's cheek.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs.

A few minutes of pleasant, hot silence pass between them and Ryan sighs.

“No, I can't sleep,” he says. “Tell me about Lond?”

“Lond is – interesting,” Michael says, waving a hand in the air. He lets it drop back to the bed with a dull thump. “Busy. Foggy in the winter.”

“Winter sounds nice right about now.”

“Careful what you wish for.” Michael rolls his head on the pillow. “My parents had a bakery in Lond. Me and my brother used to help run it. Got shut down by thieves.”

“Were you a soldier in Lond, too?”

“Gods no – the only fighting I'd done was at school. Well, when I went. Or at taverns.”

Ryan smirks and bumps Michael's knee with his own.

“Colourful past.”

Michael huffs out a laugh and nudges him back.

“That's one word for it. But yeah, after that got shut down we moved here. Opened another bakery.”

“And you signed up?”

Michael nods. “And I signed up. My brother still works at the bakery.”

“What happened from there?”

“Well, you see, you don't get to _choose_ your hutmate...”

–- 

A week after Julio leaves, Gavin manages to hurt himself – something about a misfire with a dispenser and Gavin walking in front of the damn thing at the wrong moment – and Michael takes turns helping him with Jeremy and Trevor.

It was an arrow point-blank to his left thigh, and deep enough that the healing potion's going to need a few days to properly fix it all – they have quick fix potions for battle, but to actually mend all the muscle and tissue, it'll need time to work. So Gavin's on mostly bed rest, his thigh wrapped in gauze with the potion on the inside, and he's been ordered off duty for five days.

Michael helps out during his off-shifts, getting him on crutches and buying supplies because Gavin can't walk for more than twenty minutes according to the strict instructions of the medic who patched him up.

After the five days, Michael and Jeremy take Gavin out to celebrate and Gavin almost breaks his ankle trying to sit on a wall – Michael pulls him sharply upright and mutters something about him being an _absolute idiot_ while Gavin giggles drunkenly and loops his arms around Jeremy's neck.

–- 

The heatwave raging through Consequor dies down eventually, lowering from blazing to simmering, and Michael can actually bear to touch Ryan now – not even with sexual intent, just in _general_ – but Ryan still fixes up cooling potions for him and Jeremy, placing a box of them outside the basement door for anyone who needs any.

Michael goes on a hunting party with Trevor and Meg – whose first name he finally learnt after months of only knowing her as _Turney_ – to cut down the rising zombie numbers to the north and to mark potential mining spots for the mining teams that'll come out the next day.

As well as her name, Michael learns that Meg is a _wickedly_ good archer, hanging back to shoot while Michael fights zombies head-on, wrenching at rotten limbs and stabbing cruelly through their hearts to slow them before decapitating them. Beside him, Trevor takes a nimbler approach, ducking sluggish punches and using his daggers to slash at their necks. Meg's arrows fly alarmingly close to Michael's head but he's been trained out of distrust of fellow soldiers and he doesn't even flinch as she nails one in the forehead, sending it tottering back a few steps and giving Michael a breather before he goes in for the kill.

And after they loot the horde and set torch towers for the nearby caves, Trevor happens upon a waterfall, crashing prettily into a smooth lake. There's a few rocks around its outside, and a small meadow around one side of it, and that's where they decide to set down for dinner, ditching their new treasures at their feet as they unwrap the pouches they bought from the tavern before they set off.

And, well, no one can blame them if they spend a little time _in_ the lake, too. To cool off, they'll claim if questioned, but Michael knows that bruise on Trevor's cheek is from when Meg tackled him into the lake after he stole her flask and not from a zombie.

–- 

The summer shifts from thick heat to something slightly less stifling, a pleasantly refreshing breeze blowing through Ryan's open window that disperses the summer stuffiness of the room.

Although there's not much time to revel in the fresh wind because Michael's on the bed within two minutes of stepping foot in Ryan's room because Ryan's _eager_ tonight, already climbing onto the bed and straddling Michael by the time Michael's managed to shuffle up into a semi-sitting position. He grabs onto Ryan's shoulders as Ryan kisses him, deliberately rocking down where Michael's already half-hard, getting harder with the tempting weight of Ryan on him. He grabs helplessly onto Ryan's shoulder and kisses him back just as fiercely, grinning at the happy smile that presses against his mouth. He'd ask what's got Ryan in such good spirits, but he's too preoccupied with the shameless rolls of Ryan's hips to bother.

Michael bites Ryan's lip and skates his hands down Ryan's sides over his shirt and decides maybe he'll help him out a little, keeping one hand firmly on his hip and moving the other one down to rub over his crotch. Over -

“Uh, Ryan?” Michael asks, pulling back with confusion knitting his brows. “Where's – uh – where's your dick?” Because his hand is currently pressing up against _nothing_ , a flat expanse of skin that isn't supposed to be there.

Ryan just smiles and takes his wrist to slide Michael's hand into his trousers – Michael fumbles for a moment but then Ryan guides his fingers down and _down_ and _oh_ , this is quite different. Michael rubs a slow circle into Ryan's clit and Ryan shudders, his hand hot on Michael's chest.

“Ryan?” Michael asks, still touching even as Ryan pushes him down on his back, leaning down over him.

“It's temporary,” he says, kissing Michael's jaw. “Thought you'd like it.”

“What about - “ Michael presses his other hand to Ryan's lower abdomen in silent question.

“Nothing,” Ryan says, “Purely superficial. Completely infertile.”

Michael breathes out a shaky sigh and presses down on Ryan's clit again. Ryan's lips stutter against his throat and Michael smiles.

He knows about these types of potions – the temporary ones, which only switch external genitals, really, none of reproductive stuff, and the more permanent ones, which completely change the reproductive organs. Different strains give different results – the weakest give only facial hair or breasts, but stronger ones give wombs or semen. And Michael knows about the...more sexual uses for these, but he's never really seriously considered it outside of Gavin's weird hypotheticals.

“How long does it last?” Michael asks. “Hours?”

“However long I want it to,” Ryan replies, marking up the base of Michael's throat. “Until I utter a certain spell.” He glances up at Michael and rolls his hips encouragingly into Michael's hand. “Made it myself.”

“ _Gods_ ,” Michael whispers, dragging a hand up Ryan's back under the shirt.

“You like it?” Ryan asks, returning to Michael's lips.

“Yeah, I like it,” Michael says, and flips them, pressing Ryan into the pillows and roughly tugging down his trousers to mid-thigh before going back to Ryan's crotch, thumbing hard over his clit and dipping into the wet clench of his hole.

Ryan gasps into his mouth and fists a hand in Michael's hair, holding him close as his other hand grips Michael's shoulder. Michael braces himself with one hand and uses the other to play with Ryan, insistently pressing into his clit to make him shudder and moan. Michael slips a finger in and gods, Ryan's so _eager_ for it it doesn't take long at all to get two more in there, carefully sliding in and crooking up to find which spot makes Ryan drool slick against his knuckles.

Michael starts mouthing down Ryan's neck as he curls his fingers and _thrusts_ , keeping a thumb on his clit as he fingers him, coaxing all sorts of pretty noises from his slack mouth while his thighs tremble on either side of Michael's hips. Ryan spits out some desperate form of Michael's name and comes in a hot rush over his fingers, breath hitching wildly as Michael _keeps going_ , rubbing hard over Ryan's clit until he's making quiet, almost hurt whimpers, and only then does Michael pull out. A sticky string of come follows his fingers out and Michael groans at the slick sensation, biting into Ryan's collarbone as Ryan catches his breath.

Ryan fumbles down Michael's trousers and underwear and Michael grips himself around the base, following the urgent tug on his hip to press himself up against the heat of Ryan. He moves up to crush his lips to Ryan's, moaning at the pull in his hair.

“Let me?” He asks, lining up the head of his cock against Ryan's hole. Ryan nods and Michael stutters out a sigh as he pushes in, sinking easily into the slick heat. Michael's never done this with a lady without a protective, and instinctual panic kicks in before he remembers that there's no danger – that Ryan is, essentially, closed on the other side, nowhere for Michael's come to go. The alarm melts into familiar arousal and Michael tears himself away from Ryan's mouth to pant.

“Ryan - “

“ _Move_ ,” Ryan pleads hoarsely, clenching erratically around Michael and nails digging into Michael's shoulder. “Please, Michael - “

“ _Oh_ ,” Michael gasps, looking down between them. He hadn't realised how strung out Ryan was below him, flushed and trembling.

“I forgot how – sensitive this is,” Ryan pants, rocking up as if to indicate what he's talking about. “All over.”

Michael nods and bites his lip as he experimentally slides out a bit, easing back in slowly. Ryan groans in frustration and bucks up more deliberately and Michael has to take a moment to collect himself before he continues.

Michael builds a sort of clumsy rhythm, pinning Ryan's hips down with one hand to force the right angle, the one that makes Ryan groan and clutch frantically at Michael's arm. Ryan yanks his other hand back to bite down on it, muffling himself as he looks helplessly up at Michael with wide blue eyes that look _far_ too innocent for what they're doing. Michael grins a little wickedly and twists his hips in a sharp figure-eight that makes Ryan's eyes squeeze shut.

Michael's losing himself in the _feeling_ of it all, wet and hot and the way Ryan clenches when Michael hits the right spot is endlessly thrilling, sending warm shivers down his spine. His hand shifts across Ryan's hip to gently pinch his clit between two fingers, teasing it between his knuckles and coaxing another violent shudder from Ryan.

The next judder comes with a broken moan and a rush of heat that all-of-a-sudden tips Michael over and he comes with barely any warning, dropping to kiss Ryan hard, shoving his hand out of the way with his chin, as he buries himself in Ryan. Again that instinctual panic pulses through him but he soothes it with Ryan's pleased noise, reminding himself that this is _Ryan_ , not his school-time girl.

Ryan tugs Michael's hand away from his clit and Michael pulls back and out, his dick messy with a mix of their come. He starts kissing his way down Ryan's clothed chest, impatiently rucking his shirt up to get his mouth on more skin and his hands on the jut of his hips. Ryan kicks off his trousers and Michael bites lightly over his hips, glancing up with a smirk before brushing his lips over to Ryan's crotch, taking his hitched breath as a good sign before going _lower_.

Michael drags his tongue over the swollen nub of Ryan's clit, grinning at the surprised whimper that elicits while pressing his thumbs into either side of Ryan, spreading him better so he can lap at the wet mess of his hole. Ryan's _smooth_ down here, not shaved but hairless as if there'd never been any hair there – with Ryan's talent for potions, Michael suspects there never _was_ any – and Michael pays special attention to the sensitive space between clit and hole to draw out another faint whine. He can taste _himself_ down here, thicker and saltier than Ryan, and he licks it up with no hesitation, twisting his tongue in deeper. His nose is smushed into Ryan's clit and Ryan grinds up into his face slightly, an attempt at restraint clear in the trembling of his hips.

Ryan's _gorgeous_ at this angle, one hand over his mouth again as he looks down at Michael, something pleading in the slant of his eyebrows. Michael pulls back to press a wet kiss to Ryan's thigh and hooks that leg over his shoulder before diving back in. He spends another minute thoroughly licking Ryan out, his chin wet with a mess of come and spit and his lips not much better.

“Can you – again?” Michael asks when he pulls back, shifting a hand to thumb at Ryan's clit. Ryan nods and Michael presses another kiss to his clit, shuffling back a little to see Ryan better.

“Show me,” he says, removing his hand. Ryan groans raggedly and reaches down to run his fingers over himself.

Somehow it's hotter watching Ryan touch himself, dragging his fingers through slick and stuffing two into his hole, thrusting in a handful of times before pulling out again, a trail of come stuck to his fingers. Seconds later Michael learns about the spot just above Ryan's clit, the spot that makes his hole flutter and clench around nothing. Michael moves in to tongue over Ryan's clit again, sucking lewdly on it as Ryan's fingers sweep past his cheek to spread himself for Michael, rocking up in encouragement as Michael gets his fingers back in the action, twisting two into Ryan and mercilessly aiming for _that_ spot.

Ryan comes this time with a ragged moan, his thighs tightening around Michael's head and holding him in place as he comes hot and slick over Michael's mouth. Michael groans to draw another shudder out of Ryan and when Ryan relaxes Michael takes the chance to crawl up and kiss Ryan, open-mouthed and messy as Ryan holds him down with a hand in his hair.

“You like it?” Ryan asks between sloppy kisses, panting for breath with each separation.

“I really fucking like it,” Michael breathes, wiping come off of his chin with a rough swipe of his fingers. “Fuck, how long do you want to go?”

“I got all night,” Ryan says with a smirk. Michael groans and fists the bedsheets with his free hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank to everyone who's left kudos or commented on this so far - it's really nice seeing your enthusiasm, and thank you for all the kind words! 
> 
> Want a little something? I've got [commissions](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com/post/163213021377/fic-commissions)! (Link goes to my tumblr commission post.)


	6. Chapter 6

The Harvest Festival is a beautiful, four day festival in the nearby city of Gyme to celebrate the changing of the leaves and to acknowledge the departure of summer and usher in the season of harvest. Gyme itself is surrounded by farms, and most, if not all, of the food and drink at the festival is from those farms, plucked and harvested not days before. The meals alone are a good reason to go – but everything pales in comparison to the festivities.

And – there's also the beer. Which is a _great_ reason to go.

It's a huge event, and most of the kingdom will be gone – Consequor will be practically empty during those four days. Michael's already figured out a coach and horses with Gavin, and Lindsay's booked the inn with Trevor. Jeremy's hopefully sorting out lunch for the trip.

Two days before the festival – when people are preparing to leave, merchants selling their perishables and families locking up their houses – Michael sits on a chair in Ryan's room, watching as the prince inscribes runes on a slab of wood.

“You coming to the festival with us?” Michael asks. “I promise I'll dance with you.”

Ryan laughs softly and chisels in another line. “I'm not going to the festival.”

“What?!” Michael straightens suddenly in his chair. “Why?”

Ryan shrugs.

“Geoff's going,” he says, switching out the chisel for a knife. “He needs me to stay in charge while he's gone.”

“But - “

“I'd go if I could,” Ryan continues, carving out a circle.

“But there's no one here,” Michael says. “Won't the castle be empty?”

Ryan looks up and glances around the room.

“We have the golems,” he says. “I'll be fine.” He smiles at Michael and returns to inscribing. “Enjoy yourself.”

Michael slumps back in his chair and frowns. He honestly just assumed Ryan was going – the only people who stay in the city are unfortunate farmhands to care for the livestock, and even they usually switch out with people coming back two days early from the festival to relieve them. The guards are all replaced with iron golems, and wired redstone defences substitute for the archers and patrols.

“But who will kiss me under the arch?” Michael asks, raising a teasing eyebrow. There's a certain arch in Gyme, adorned with golden leaves and rubied apples, and tradition says a lover's kiss under that arch will imbue them with good fortune. Not really a serious tradition as much as just a merely sweet one, but honoured by most attendants, from young newlyweds to older parents, little kids with their favourite toy to drunk, grizzled warriors with their freshest mug of ale. Sweet, if a little silly. Two years ago Michael did it with Lindsay, when they were still together.

Ryan chuckles and sets down his tools to grab a potion, uncorking it swiftly and pouring the concoction into the inscription. The rune glows an unearthly blue. He lets the potion settle and puts down the bottle before walking over to Michael. Michael stands automatically and Ryan's eyes crinkle with his smile.

“This is for the arch,” he says before kissing Michael sweetly. He circles his fingers around Michael's wrist and urges it up, pressing another soft kiss to the inside of Michael's wrist, right over his pulse. “And this is for the travel.”

Michael grins a little stupidly and Ryan lets him go, reaching up to brush a thumb over Michael's cheek.

“You should get going,” he says calmly. “You leave tomorrow.”

Michael sighs and nods reluctantly. He _did_ promise Lindsay he'd help her close up the tavern today.

“I feel bad for leaving you alone,” he admits. “I wish I'd asked earlier.”

“No,” Ryan insists, dropping his hand to grip Michael's. “Go. Enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. He smiles back and Ryan squeezes his hand.

“Anyway, I'm not alone,” Ryan says, “I've got Edgar.” He cuts a sly glance over to Michael's right. “And a few more...experiments I want to try.”

Edgar's response, whatever it is, makes Ryan laugh and turn back to Michael, letting him go with one more fond squeeze.

“You'll have to tell me all about it,” Ryan says, stepping back to return to his rune. “If you remember any of it, that is.”

“No promises.”

Ryan grins and shoos him out of the room.

–- 

The festival set-up is impressive as it always is, and even though Jeremy forgot to pack lunch for the trip, the travel wasn't so bad, and the inn is only a short trek from the centre of town.

Gyme is set up like a fair for festival, stalls of games and goods alike, taverns with broad wood tables in the street for dinners, pretty fairy lights strung across the houses and lamps like magic. There _is_ magic, too, sorcerers with enchanting little tricks – dancing flames and fluttering snowflakes – potion stands with simple concoctions and novelty brews.

The first night of festival Gavin chooses the tavern for dinner – a busy one right in the middle of the city – and they manage to secure a table outside with a good view of the decorations. At the end of the street, on the right, Michael can see the Fors Arch, a young couple kissing chastely beneath it as magicked vines twirl up over the columns. They're interrupted by a young boy running between them with a wooden bird – their son, judging by their reaction – and the affectionate way the man picks the boy up makes Michael smile.

He's brought back to the conversation by the tray of mugs of ale plopped down on the table, each of them thanking the barmaid as they take one. Lindsay tips her a handful of coins and blushes fiercely when the barmaid winks at her.

Dinner is simple and delicious, just layman's meat and fresh vegetables, and while they're in the middle of a good-natured argument about making Jeremy pay for dinner because he forgot lunch, fireworks explode in the sky above the town square. That shuts up them – and the rest of the crowd – pretty well, and Gavin leans over Michael to see better, the gold and green reflecting in his eyes. A shower of harmless sparks drifts over their table, catching in Trevor's hair and Jeremy's clothes, and children giggle as more rockets shoot up, casting the square in hues of soft red and vivid blue, eerie purple and cheerful pink.

When the show ends, everyone breaks up into their groups again, chattering excitedly about this and that and probably drinking way too much ale. Jeremy's far past the rest of the table on the matter of drinks – Trevor orders a new round, this time of Gyme's specialty beer, and Lindsay perks up at the mention of it.

The night passes in a little of a tipsy blur, but Michael remembers the important parts – the strange black potion Trevor bought and poured all over Jeremy's head – it dyed his hair bright green – the small golden crown Lindsay won from a knife-toss and immediately gave to Gavin, the pop and fizz of sparkling children's toys, the warm yellow of the streetlamps as they walked back to the inn.

–- 

The second and third day of the Harvest festival pass similarly – on the second day there's an official harvest parade, celebrating the bounty from this year and toasting to the winner of the biggest pumpkin contest. Trevor chooses the tavern this time and they find a balcony seat overlooking the lake in the east of Gyme.

The day after they get so drunk on Gyme beer that Michael nearly forgets where their inn is, and after a short evening nap – when he finally found his bed, stumbled into it with a giggling Gavin attached to his side – and the help of a sobering potion Jeremy mysteriously acquired at some point, they reconvene in the street outside the inn, blinking away the effects of the potion and a little confused by the lack of a headache.

Lindsay isn't there, nor was in Trevor's and Jeremy's room, and a stumbling recount of what they actually remember quickly reminds Gavin that she went off with the barmaid from the first night, and Michael nods vigorously as he remembers, too, remembers sending Lindsay off with a smirk and a cheerful “see you later!”.

Jeremy runs up to leave a note on her bed and they all decide to take a stroll through the town before dinner. There's expansive markets set up for festival, merchants hawking all sorts of wares from pelts to potions, and almost immediately Michael loses Gavin in the crowd.

And then when he goes to find him, gets utterly, _thoroughly_ lost in the markets.

–- 

The fourth night of festival – and the last – there's a dance. Not mandatory, but most everyone goes because it's good fun. The whole town and its guests gather in the town square as the king of Gyme announces the start, and when the music starts up Trevor immediately whisks Michael into the throng of dancers, laughing as Michael stumbles in surprise.

Michael tries to keep up with Trevor's quick footsteps – Michael never really was one for dancing, but he's learnt a few steps from guarding ballrooms – and halfway through the next song they bump into Jeremy and Lindsay. Jeremy smoothly takes Trevor away and Michael switches to Lindsay, laughing at her story about the barmaid as they spin in almost-graceful circles. Gavin appears at some point with an older lady on his arm, looking entirely too pleased with himself as she hands him off to Michael.

“Quite a ball of energy, that one,” she says, smiling as Gavin thanks her for the dance. “Keep good hold on him,” she says with a meaningful look at Michael. Michael flushes and Gavin giggles happily, looping his arms around Michael's shoulders. The lady disappears and Lindsay excuses herself for drinks, politely pushing through the crowd to reach the table Trevor and Jeremy are at already.

Gavin stumbles a bit and Michael nearly loses his grip, quickly securing his hands around Gavin's waist to keep him steady.

“Ooh, better keep good hold on me,” Gavin teases, grinning when Michael rolls his eyes.

“What have you been drinking?” Michael asks. To his surprise, Gavin shakes his head.

“Nothin', boi. 'S just fun!”

Michael fondly shakes his head and starts dancing them over to the table, twirling Gavin with a hand above his head before pushing him into a seat.

“Wow, fancy moves,” Jeremy comments, wiping the foam around his mouth. Trevor pushes a fresh mug of ale towards Michael and Lindsay slides another to Gavin.

“What can I say, being a royal guard has its perks.” Michael replies, toasting Gavin before drinking. “You learn a lot of shit from those ballroom dances.”

“I've never learnt anything from them,” Jeremy says. “They're boring as _shit_.”

“Well, I guess Michael's got a bit more...motivation to watch the prince,” Trevor says with a grin.

“Shut up,” Michael says. “It's my job to watch the prince.”

“Oh, and watch him he does,” Trevor adds, spreading his hands out to an invisible audience.

“Yeah, I bet you get up to some _thorough_ watching,” Lindsay teases, giggling when Jeremy snorts into her shoulder.

Gavin suddenly perks up next to Michael, poking him hard in the shoulder.

“You should get something for 'im!” He exclaims. “Like – a souvenir or somethin'!”

“Yeah, we'll help!” Lindsay chirps before finishing the last of her ale.

“We'll go check out the markets after the dance,” Trevor says. Jeremy nods as well before decisively setting his ale down.

“Speaking of,” Jeremy declares, reaching a hand towards Gavin, “would you care for a dance, m'lord?”

“Why, Jeremy, I thought you'd never ask!” Gavin titters, pitching his voice high.

–- 

They're all exhausted on the way back to Consequor, barely speaking as the coach rattles around them. Trevor's driving right now, 'hi-yah!'ing the horses and steering them carefully over well-worn roads. Gavin's sleeping on Michael's shoulder, snoring softly as the coach jostles them. Across from them Jeremy's passed out with his head on the window and Lindsay's staring out of the other one, idly twisting her fingers together.

Michael slowly flips one of his gifts for Ryan in his hands, smoothing his thumb over the engraved script. He realised he doesn't really – _know_ what Ryan would like, has a minimal idea of what kind of gifts would please him best. He knows, deep down, that Ryan will accept whatever he gets – would be happy and would thank him and would probably appreciate it – but Michael wants to get him something special.

In his hand is a smooth obsidian dagger with dark glittering rubies set into the end of the handle, the blade sharp as diamond. Engraved along the flat of the handle is _Ryan_ in neat cursive, a small mark of ownership that Michael _really_ hopes Ryan likes.

Lindsay lightly kicks his foot. Michael looks up to see her staring at him.

“He'll love it,” she whispers. Michael nods nervously and flips the knife again, running his thumb over the ruby. Its sheath is in Michael's bag, black leather with brass buttons and a matching ruby on the holster.

And there's – another thing Michael got for Ryan, something he didn't tell his friends about, something he slipped off and bought when Gavin was distracted by a fire orb. He thinks it might be a little short on Ryan, but there's a hem if they need to fix it.

Michael's mostly nervous about presenting the kilt to Ryan – it's purple and green and neatly pleated with charming gold clasps and he's silently praying to whatever gods out there that Ryan doesn't take it the wrong way.

He looks out at the empty road – they're some of the first to return home; most people don't return to Consequor until after a fifth night, when the festival's over and done with but the cheerful spirit still remains.

Michael carefully tugs up his bag to sheath the dagger and gently pushes Gavin's head further back on his shoulder so he doesn't slip off. Gavin grunts and tucks his face into Michael's neck and Michael rolls his eyes but just drapes an arm around his shoulders, holding him steady as he leans back against the plush seat.

–- 

The city really _is_ empty when they return, desolate and quiet save for the distant lowing of some cows and the squawk of birds. There's a couple tavern owners sweeping their property, innkeepers washing bed linens and scrubbing tables. It's peaceful, for once.

Michael dumps his other stuff at home, changes clothes, and leaves Gavin to sleep before walking to the castle – he took a nap on the way back, and he's still tired but it's Jeremy's shift tomorrow so he can catch up on sleep then. And he would really like to see Ryan while the castle's empty.

The dragging footsteps of the iron golems sound ominous and eerie when Michael approaches the front gates. One of the golems standing guard takes a long, hard look at him before slowly unbolting the small side door and letting him through.

The castle is absolutely _silent_ apart from the rough scrape of golems as Michael proceeds across the open-air court. He decides to go straight through the throne room – that's the quickest way to get to Ryan's room, and it's a path he can't usually use, so he takes his chance to use it now.

When he walks into the throne room, instead of beelining for the door at the other end, to the right of the throne, he stops in his tracks. The door swings solidly shut behind him.

Ryan's _in_ the throne, sitting semi-sideways with one leg over the arm and his other over the seat, toes brushing the floor. There's a cracked crown sitting lopsidedly on his head and his white linen shirt is tucked into – ha – that kilt, paired with white socks and sensible black shoes. There's a group of five golems on the carpet in front of the throne, and Ryan leans his chin on his hand as he spins a finger around in mid-air with the other. The golems are spinning by his command, it seems, whirling in mindless circles as Ryan swings the leg hooked over the arm.

He beams when he sees Michael, slowing the golems as Michael approaches the throne.

“Is this what you've been up to?” Michael asks, hiking his satchel further up on his shoulder. Ryan laughs warmly and sends the golems away with a flick of his wrist, leaning back against the plush throne and grinning wide.

“It's been so _boring_ here,” he says, sending a breeze through the room with his hand.

“I thought Edgar was sufficient company?” Michael teases, stepping up to the throne when Ryan beckons. Ryan waves a dismissive hand.

“He always goes to the festival,” he says, sliding his leg down to sit properly on the throne. “Haven't seen him since.” He reaches out and grabs Michael's hips, yanking him firmly forward and onto the throne – Michael lands on his knees, straddling Ryan's thighs and shooting a hand out to the golden arm of the chair to keep his balance. Ryan leans forward to nose at Michael's neck, blowing softly across the exposed hollow of his throat.

“Ryan, what if someone walks in?” Michael complains, reluctantly trying to push Ryan away. Ryan shakes his head and drags his nose up to Michael's cheek.

“The golems only obey Geoff,” he says. “And he doesn't return until tomorrow.”

“Then how come they let me in?”

Ryan grins, all teeth.

“I may have tweaked them a bit.” He kisses Michael's cheek and Michael gladly leans into his touch, a bit embarrassed at the position he's in but enjoying it nonetheless.

“I ought to fuck you right here,” Ryan murmurs into his ear, smirking at the shudder that zips up Michael's spine. “Just like this, on the throne. You'd sound so pretty with this echo.”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Michael gasps, turning his mouth slightly into Ryan's hair. “Did you get filthier while I was gone?”

“I was _bored_ ,” Ryan counters, brushing his lips over Michael's cheek to his mouth. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, missed some part of me,” Michael mutters before Ryan kisses him.

“I missed all of you,” Ryan says, pressing another sweet kiss to Michael's lips. “I love you.”

Michael hums in acknowledgment and lets the familiar hot touch of Ryan's palms cradling his hips soak in.

“Love you too, I suppose,” Michael sighs dramatically. Ryan snickers and Michael smiles, planting a hand on Ryan's shoulder and kissing him again before pushing him back.

“I got stuff for you,” he says, settling more comfortably on Ryan's thighs as Ryan leans back against the throne. Ryan's eyes light up and a grin tugs at his lips as Michael sets his bag in his lap and paws through the contents.

Michael pulls out the sheathed dagger first, handing it over with a confidence he doesn't really feel. Ryan takes it carefully, studying the simple leather holster and the embedded ruby before sliding out the dagger, openly marvelling at the blade as he hefts it in his hand. The engraving doesn't slip his notice either. He brushes reverent fingers over it and leans up to press an open-mouth kiss to Michael's jaw, still caressing the dagger between them.

“I love it,” he says simply, rubbing a thumb over his name and testing the weight on a finger. Seemingly contented with what he finds, he sheathes it and carefully lays it by his hip on the throne. “Thank you, Michael.”

“You could thank me more thoroughly now,” Michael says with a wicked grin, leaning in to kiss Ryan. “Bend me right over the throne.”

“And I am sorely tempted to,” Ryan groans, hands returning to Michael's hips and _squeezing_. “But the golems can be cruel traitors when they want to be.”

“I have something else for you, too,” Michael says, more nervously now, his chest growing tight as he fishes out the bundle of paper-wrapped fabric from his bag. He presses it into Ryan's hands, sits back and bites his lip as Ryan curiously tears open the paper.

Ryan gasps when he realises what it is, holding up the kilt between them and laying it down over his lap, smoothing down as much as he can until it bunches against Michael's body where he's in the way. He fingers the gleaming golden clasps and smiles brightly up at Michael, something almost boyish in the unadulterated warmth in his eyes.

“Gods, Michael, I couldn't have asked for anything more perfect,” he breathes, swiftly tugging Michael back down to kiss him hard. “Except maybe for you.”

“Sap,” Michael scolds.

“Where did you find it?” Ryan asks, breaking away to admire the kilt some more.

“It was in the Gyme markets,” Michael replies, awkwardly twisting to drop his satchel on the floor behind him. “Saw it and thought of you.” He pauses for a second, entrancing by the nimble twist of Ryan's fingers as he undoes the clasps. “Might be a little short.”

“And that's a bad thing?” Ryan questions, raising an eyebrow. And _gods_ how did Michael get this fortunate? His breath stutters and a wicked smirk spreads over Ryan's face.

“I don't suppose it is,” Michael allows, lazily resting his forearms on Ryan's shoulders.

“I shall have to try it on for you,” Ryan says, curling an arm around Michael's waist. His smile gentles as he reaches up to stroke over Michael's cheek, petting just under his eye. “But you should get some sleep first.”

“I need a shower first,” Michael grumbles, leaning into Ryan's warm touch. Ryan sighs and Michael relaxes further into his embrace.

“I'd let you stay here but - “ Ryan's mouth twists and he squeezes Michael's waist apologetically, “ - I'm using my room for an experiment right now. And with Geoff's new sheep raising idea – well, it'll be hectic enough in the morning.”

“An experiment, huh?” Michael asks, closing his eyes.

“Not a pretty one,” Ryan says. “Please, go sleep. You can visit tomorrow.”

“Damn right I can visit tomorrow,” Michael mumbles, earning himself a bright laugh. “Try and fucking stop me.”

Ryan lifts one of Michael's hands to kiss his knuckles before gently easing him off of the throne and back onto his own two feet. Ryan stands to join him, gathering up his gifts in one hand and gripping Michael's arm with the other.

“And tell Gavin I quite enjoyed the little...display he left me,” Ryan says with a smirk. Michael furrows his brow and looks at him curiously.

“Display?” He asks.

“Gavin can tell you,” Ryan replies cryptically.

Michael hauls his mostly empty bag up again and yanks Ryan in by the collar to kiss him square on the mouth, drawing out a startled noise from the prince that makes him grin.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart,” Michael teases as he pulls back, smoothing down Ryan's shirt.

“Oh please, not you, too,” Ryan says.

“Me too?” Michael asks, cocking an eyebrow. Ryan sighs and gestures loosely in the air.

“Edgar seems to have a...penchant for such affections,” he explains. “He is – on a quest to find that which annoys me most.”

“Has he found it yet?”

“...no.”

“Then I guess I should help out,” Michael says, grinning at the horror that widens Ryan's eyes. He turns to walk away, tossing out a saccharine “Farewell, honey!” over his shoulder.

Ryan's sigh is audible from across the throne room.

–- 

Michael discovers over dinner that Gavin's “display” was sticking arrows in the lead archer golem – _potioned_ arrows, so that when Ryan touched them, they dissolved into light, or petals, or feathers, or snow, or glass, or any number of the leftover potions Ryan gave to him. Michael has to admit it's a pretty good set up, and high-fives Gavin over the table while he munches on bread.

When he goes to the castle, newly amazed at the hustle of human guards and the lively chatter of nobles, he immediately winds his way down to the basement level. Jeremy's outside the door.

“Man, how can you even _do_ this?” Jeremy asks, pushing his visor up. “I'm _so_ tired right now.”

“Jeremy,” Michael says, laying a firm hand on his armoured shoulder. He lifts up one finger. “One, I woke up an hour ago. Two - “ another finger “ - all I've done today is have dinner.”

“I wish I could do that,” Jeremy pouts.

“Tomorrow, Lil J, tomorrow,” Michael promises, dropping his hands. “Now, can I see the prince?”

Jeremy shrugs. “I'd knock first – he's been in there all day.”

Michael knocks and calls out Ryan's name – he hears a yelp from inside and a loud _sizzle_ , but before he can open the door Ryan does, stepping outside and swiftly closing it behind him before pressing his back up against it. An unpleasant odour wafts from Ryan's clothes.

“Hey Michael,” he pants, smiling too-innocently. Michael squints and Jeremy's brows pinch together.

“What are you doing in there?” Michael asks. Something pops and bubbles inside the room and Ryan laughs nervously, pressing harder against the door.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice an octave too high. “Nothing at all. How are you?”

“Is that... _zombie_?” Jeremy asks, sniffing cautiously.

“Something's definitely rotting,” Michael notes, frowning.

“No it isn't,” Ryan says, too quickly. “Nothing's happening.”

“You're a terrible liar,” Jeremy deadpans. “Seriously, it's really fucking obvious there's something going on.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ryan says, pushing away from the door and bolting it from _inside_ with a sweep of his hand. “You treasonous bastard.”

“Treasonous?!” Jeremy exclaims, falling into step with Michael as Ryan heads towards the basement door. “How am I treasonous?!”

Ryan turns and regards him with a mischievous smile, an amused spark in his eye.

“Slander against the prince is treason,” he says, and Jeremy scoffs as Michael laughs.

“Slander my ass,” Jeremy mutters. “Doing sketchy things in your basement is treason.”

Ryan laughs brightly and Jeremy drops the disgruntled act, joining him in laughter.

“Where are we going?” Michael asks as they wind up the stairs.

“Observatory,” Ryan says excitedly, opening another door and walking quickly down the hallway. Michael trails after Jeremy, sharing a puzzled look with him. Ryan's never been in _this_ much of a hurry.

They get intercepted by another guard and Michael and Jeremy wait a few polite steps back while the guard talks in low tones to Ryan. Ryan runs an agitated hand through his hair and gestures sharply for the guard to lead him – Michael and Jeremy follow quickly as the guard takes them across to the south wing of the castle, far away from the observatory.

Michael spies the sour twist of Ryan's mouth when he glances out at a window, something tense and angry in the line of his shoulders.

They come to a stop in front of an intricate wooden door and the guard knocks before opening it. Ryan peers in and freezes.

“Jeremy, stay outside,” Ryan orders, one hand still on the doorframe. “Michael, I think it's best if you leave.” It's not a suggestion.

With that, he steps in and the door bangs shut.

“What's happened?” Michael asks. Jeremy's pale under the visor.

“I have no clue,” Jeremy replies. “But it doesn't seem good.”

Michael nods.

“Probably a magic injury,” Michael offers.

“Probably,” Jeremy agrees.

“I should – I'll go, then,” Michael says. “I'll get breakfast for you tomorrow.”

“Thanks man,” Jeremy says, still staring at the door. Michael stands there for another awkward moment.

“I'll see you at dawn,” he says eventually, patting Jeremy's shoulder. “I'll come a little earlier if I can.”

Jeremy nods again and Michael takes his leave, his footsteps dull in the echoey stone corridors of the south wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it obvious I'm crap at good chapter endings? 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry there isn't as much Jack and Jeremy in this fic - I'm trying to get more scenes with them in it, it's just hard because Jeremy and Michael switch off guarding, and there's not many times they get a day off together because they have to get a substitute guard for Ryan. And I'm working on getting Jack more involved in it. And let me know if there's anyone who's kind of in the background (or not yet in this fic) you'd like to see more of! I'm open to suggestions! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read/left kudos/commented/liked this fic! 
> 
> (Also for the love of GOD if there's a spelling or grammatical error please don't hesitate to tell me - I won't take it badly at all, and if you even want to leave any constructive criticism, go for it! Just, y'know, phrase it nicely.) 
> 
> (AND. If you think of any good words, let me know because do you know how many things I've googled to describe fucking flowers? TOO MANY.)


	7. Chapter 7

Michael relieves Jeremy an hour before dawn in front of Ryan's room.

“Lindsay's got breakfast ready for you in the tavern,” Michael says quietly. “On me.”

“Thanks man. I owe you one.” Jeremy pulls his helmet off and rubs at the bags under his eyes, blinking sleepily.

“Don't worry about it.”

Jeremy ambles away as Michael takes up his post, resting his head against the stone and crossing his arms. The hallway is dark save for the flickering torch a few paces away, somewhat comforting but mostly creepy.

There's an indistinguishable noise from inside the room.

Michael gives it a minute before submitting to his bored curiosity and knocking twice on the door.

“Sir?” He asks. No reply. He opens the door a sliver and peeks in.

It all seems fine, moonlight creeping across the floor and edging over the bed – and the prince is facedown in the bed, but the tension in his arms is too unnatural for sleeping. He's clutching the pillow below him and his ribs expand and deflate in such sudden intensity that Michael fears he's crying.

“Sir?” He asks again, a little louder to announce his presence, and he steps fully in, closing the door behind him. Something flickers out of the corner of his eye. A few potions bottles shake and one freezes solid. Seems like Edgar's distressed.

Michael frowns and goes towards Ryan, sitting down gingerly on the bed and pulling off one gauntlet to lay a careful hand on his arm.

“Ryan?”

Ryan gasps – no, _sobs_ – and shifts on the pillow, a shudder running through him. Michael's heart twists at the sound and he tug off his helmet, gripping Ryan more firmly this time.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Ryan shudders again and Michael's about to let go and stand up – get someone, maybe, or get one of Edgar's visibility potions because maybe he can explain – but Ryan turns his head slightly so his mouth isn't pressed to the pillow and speaks.

“Stay,” he asks in a broken voice, sniffling once and his muscles tensing under Michael's hand. “Please - “

“Okay, okay,” Michael soothes, stroking his palm over Ryan's shoulder blade. “What's wrong?”

“It _hurts_ ,” Ryan sobs, hunching his shoulders with another shudder. “It - “ he breaks off to bury his face in the pillow again. The potions rattle again and Michael glares up at them.

“Give me a moment,” he says, petting over Ryan's spine before standing up to undress, gracelessly unclasping his armour and leaving it in a pile of diamond and leather by the bed. He climbs into the bed to press against Ryan's side, smoothing a hand down his trembling arm.

“Hey, hey, I'm here now,” Michael whispers, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Ryan's hair just above his ear. “I've got you.”

The potions shake almost angrily and one smashes to the floor, exploding in a cloud of wispy scarlet smoke. Ryan twitches violently and moans, pained, into the pillow – a moment later he starts crying, muffled and quiet, and Michael's chest goes tight. Ryan shoves the pillow against his ears, like he's trying to block out a noise.

Another potion crashes to the ground, this time bursting in purple smoke.

“- not me, it's not me!” Edgar shouts hoarsely, the smoke drifting up to reveal him in mid-air, looking exhausted, hunched over clutching his wounded side. “I don't know who it is – I _don't know_!”

Michael furrows his brow and looks at him, pushing up on a hand to see him better.

“What's happening?” He asks. Edgar looks at him with something like relief, but it's overtaken by the agony that twists his features, bringing tears to his eyes as he stares back at Michael.

“I tried to help,” Edgar grits out through his teeth. He pulls a hand away from his wound and glances down at it – his _blood-covered_ hand, and ghosts don't bleed last time Michael checked. “It's a new spirit – it's - “ Edgar yells and hunches over more, blood dripping from between his fingers to disappear in mid-air, “ - it's hurting him too.”

Michael's pulse thuds in his ears with the panic and he sits up all of a sudden, pushing the covers away to find out where Ryan's hurting.

“You can't – You can't see it,” Edgar gasps. He flickers violently and snaps back into focus. “Get someone – Get Jack, Michael, _please_ \- “

“What about you?” Michael asks, already kicking his legs out of bed and shoving them into boots.

“I'll be fine,” Edgar says quickly, pressing harder against his wound but he's pale and gaunt now, eyes dull with pain. “I'll be fine – _get Jack_.”

Michael nods and stumbles while running out of the room, skidding around the corner and rushing down dark hallways, following the torches to reach Jack's room. The guard – Trevor – recognises his panic and steps aside to let Michael knock wildly, pointing wordlessly down the hall when Jack answers.

“What is it?” Jack asks, grabbing an overshirt as Michael quickly gulps in a few breaths.

“It's Ryan – he's – I don't know what's happening, but he's hurt,” Michael explains through his panting. “There's a ghost - “

“Edgar?” Jack asks. Michael shakes his head.

“Another one – it's _hurting_ him, Jack, please - “

“Okay, okay, go,” Jack says, grabbing a satchel before following Michael down the hallway, Trevor behind them.

Michael flings open the door and Jack marches in, setting his bag down as he takes a look around the room, frowning as he watches Ryan convulse on the bed and whimper miserably, sweat shining on his skin. And then his eyes turn to Edgar, floating next to the potion shelf, gripping his side. He gasps and Edgar's head snaps up to look at them, his eyebrows pinched in pain.

“Help him,” he rasps, flickering again.

“You're Edgar,” Jack says, opening his bag. Edgar nods weakly and his hands slip in blood.

“I've never seen you before,” Jack adds, pulling out a few bottles.

“It's – a potion Ryan made,” Michael says, hovering nervously next to Jack. “Can I do anything?”

Jack pops open a clean bottle and starts mixing something together, pouring in a muddy green concoction and stirring it with a glass rod he pulled from somewhere.

“What caused it?”

“There's another ghost,” Edgar answers.

“He doesn't know who,” Michael finishes. “But whoever it is – they're – they're hurting both of them. Badly.”

Jack nods and corks the new mix to shake it up, handing it to Michael and pulling out another two bottles to combine them.

Edgar suddenly screams, doubling over, and Michael looks up with worried eyes as he flickers and disappears completely. A moment later he blinks back into view, blood dripping from his mouth. Ryan shouts abruptly into his pillow, writhing on the bed.

“Please,” Edgar pleads again, blood spilling from his mouth and dribbling down his chin, his neck. “Ple - “ he coughs wetly, hunching over again as he chokes on blood, uselessly wiping it away from his wrist but more replaces it.

“I don't know what to do with ghostly afflictions,” Jack whispers, taking the ugly green potion from Michael and adding his new mixture into it, darkening it into brown. “But this should be strong enough to knock Ryan out – I don't think the tension's making it better.”

“And how – how do we do that?”

Jack looks grimly at the bed and back at Michael.

“I'll need your help,” he says. He glances at Trevor. “Both of you.”

“Yes sir,” Trevor says, stepping up to them. Jack gestures and Trevor removes his helmet, then gauntlets when Jack points at those, too.

“You'll have to hold him down for me,” Jack says. “I don't want to use a potion – freezing him won't help with the pain. But it's not gonna be pretty.”

Michael rolls up his sleeves and looks at Trevor. Trevor nods at him.

“We can do it,” Michael says. Ryan shudders again and Jack uncorks the potion, moving towards the bed.

Michael circles around to the other side and Trevor mirrors him, his hands nervously hovering above the prince. Michael brushes a hand through Ryan's hair and leans down to talk to him, hoping to calm him a little before they have to turn him over. Ryan's muttering a small, hurt mantra of _make it stop, make it stop_ that wrenches Michael's heart.

“Ryan, hey, we've got Jack here,” he says quietly, resting a hand on Ryan's neck. “He can help you but we need you to roll over for us.”

Ryan sobs brokenly and nods, loosening his grip on the pillow. He moans in pain again and shudders but forces himself to untense again – Michael nods at Trevor and suddenly they're rolling him over, pinning down his shoulders when he tries to curl in on himself, a ragged shout tearing from his throat. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears slipping down onto his cheeks as he judders under their hands. He's _clearly_ in pain, and it breaks Michael's fucking heart even as he plants a hand on Ryan's collarbone and forces his jaw open with the other. Jack holds his nose and puts the potion to his lips, pouring it down his throat – its foul stench makes Michael's eyes water and Trevor cough and Ryan tries to pull away but Trevor presses harder on his shoulder and Ryan's forced to swallow, choking a little when Jack pulls the bottle away. Michael clamps his hand over Ryan's mouth before he can cough it up.

“Sorry, sorry, but you need to drink it all,” Michael murmurs, relaxing his grip as Ryan makes an unhappy noise and swallows thickly, face scrunching up at the taste. He cracks open a red-rimmed eye to look up at Michael and turns to hide his face in the pillow as he sobs again, wracked with another shudder – and this time when he relaxes he passes out, mouth going slack as he melts into the sheets, completely and utterly knocked out.

Michael and Trevor cautiously remove their hands, Michael lingering a moment longer beside the bed while Trevor steps away, politely placing his hands by his side. Jack puts the bottle to the side and presses two fingers to Ryan's neck, over his pulse point.

“That should keep him out for a few hours,” Jack says. “Hopefully the ghost is gone by then.”

Michael glances back at Edgar. He's deathly still in the air, the only sign of – life, Michael guesses, in the slight twitch of his fingers. The potions clatter again. Michael heads to the other side of the bed, silently waiting for whoever to speak next.

Jack quietly packs up, shouldering his bag as dawn filters through the half-drawn curtains.

“You should stay with him,” Jack tells Michael, clapping a friendly hand on his arm. “I'll tell Geoff not to bother you.”

Michael nods and thanks him softly, giving him a small, reassuring smile when Jack squeezes his arm. Trevor pulls on his armour again and wishes Michael good fortune before he follows Jack out.

Michael bolts the door behind them and turns back to the bed, watching the idle rise and fall of Ryan's chest for a few moments. He looks at Edgar.

“Thank you,” Edgar says, his voice ragged and nearly gone. Michael nods.

“What about you?” He asks. Edgar lifts his head to meet his eyes.

“Don't worry about me,” he whispers. He flickers. Potions clink.

“You're dying,” Michael says. Knows.

“Not really.” Edgar coughs weakly and blood drools from the corner of his mouth.

“Reliving it, then.”

Edgar nods and a hand falls from his side. He brings it up to the rays of sunrise peeking in through the window. He's even more translucent in the light. The hand goes back to his wound.

Edgar floats away a little and disappears – Michael gets the distinct sense he's left the room.

Michael trudges towards the bed and pulls up the blanket before slipping under it, turning onto his side and draping an arm over Ryan's waist as he rests his head on the tear-streaked pillow.

Ryan breathes softly next to him. Michael presses a kiss to his shoulder and settles in for the hours ahead.

–- 

Ryan awakes slowly, sucking a breath and coughing on the exhale. Michael shifts to give Ryan room as Ryan rolls onto his side to face Michael.

Michael's been dozing on and off the past few hours, but he's been awake now for a while. Ryan coughs again and rubs at his cheek, at the dried tear-tracks.

“You okay?” Michael asks. Ryan nods, looks down between them.

“Where's Edgar?” He rasps, running a hand down his chest as if feeling for a wound.

“He – I don't know,” Michael sighs, placing his hand over Ryan's and stopping it in its tracks. “Ryan, what happened?”

Ryan sighs and deliberately avoids Michael's eyes.

“Later,” he says, and something impatient and concerned tugs at Michael's chest.

“No, now,” Michael says.

“Michael - “

“I came in and you were crying, Ryan, you were in so much pain you could barely _speak_ and – and then I have to get Jack and Edgar dying all over again so you tell me right now what was happening,” Michael continues sternly. Ryan flops onto his back and drags a hand over his face.

“It was a – new spirit,” Ryan says, looking up at the ceiling. “Sometimes - “ he sighs and pulls his hand away from Michael's, “ - they can't help it, they – they just rip through everything and they don't _realise_ \- “ he breaks off and inhales shakily, furrowing his brows. “What happened to Edgar?”

“I don't know,” Michael replies. “He's probably in the castle somewhere.”

“He's _not_ in the castle, though,” Ryan says, threading a distressed hand into his hair. His breath picks up and Michael hurries to press closer, trying to calm him down with gentle brushes of his hand.

“He's not _here_ , Michael,” Ryan says, pushing Michael's hands away and roughly shoving the blanket away to get out of bed. “I have to find him.”

“He could be anywhere,” Michael reasons, pushing himself up on a hand. “Ryan, come on, you need to rest.” 

Look, Michael cares about Edgar, too, but with all due respect, he's a _ghost_ and Ryan is merely mortal.

“What did he tell you?” Ryan asks sharply, waving open a chest and dragging out clothes.

“He – said not to worry about him,” Michael says slowly, regarding Ryan carefully. “He'd be fine.”

Ryan groans and shoves his leg into a pair of trousers, quickly tying them around his waist as he twists for a shirt.

“He's _not_ okay,” Ryan insists, pulling on a shirt and stepping into boots. “That sort of thing doesn't – he's not okay, of _course_ he'd fucking say - “ he breaks into an irritable sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I need to find him, Michael.”

At the anguish in Ryan's tone, Michael pulls himself out of bed and starts redresssing in his armour, strapping on weapons as Ryan disappears into the bathroom.

Ryan finishes in there and grabs a cloak from another chest, fastening it around his throat. He attaches a holster to his belt and his thigh, stashing his sword and dagger, respectively, and secures a quiver on his other thigh before picking up his bow and storming past Michael to the door.

“Where are we going?” Michael asks. Ryan pauses and glances back at him.

“The forest.”

–- 

The thick foliage of the trees makes it seem like night in the depths of the forest, everything painted in hues of black and grey. The bluish glow of Ryan's floating orb casts eerie shadows around the branches, transforming tree trunks into monstrous shapes. Ryan's cloak swishes against his leather-clad calves, blacker than the night and just as ominous.

Michael keeps a strong grip on his sword, glowing faintly as he creeps behind Ryan, listening for any unwelcome creatures. Twigs snap below them and Ryan holds his bow tight against his side, an arrow already notched and ready to fly.

A bird caws loudly above them and Michael jumps, glancing up to see a flutter of feathers as the creature flies away. Ryan steps carefully over a stump and tucks in against a tree, his cloak blending in perfectly with the shadows. Michael hides behind another tree and waits for Ryan's lead.

A disembodied groan echoes from within the trees. Ryan stays still. Another groan, this time followed by a wet cough. Ryan jerks his head towards it and starts walking, the orb drifting beside him.

They emerge into a dark clearing, the murky grass and patchy mud illuminated by the orb. Ryan mutters something and the orb leaps to the middle of the clearing, expanding a bit and lighting up the area better. Michael can't see anything, but Ryan digs out a potion from his belt and tosses it a few steps in front of him. It shatters against the ground.

The smoke settles to reveal Edgar, lying down on the ground – well, Michael thinks, probably just floating on it – with one knee pulled up, breathing shallowly as his hands press over his wound. Michael pauses and Ryan carefully approaches him, holstering his bow and tucking the arrow away before kneeling by Edgar's side.

Edgar coughs again and rolls his head towards Ryan, looking up at him and glancing past him to Michael. Michael inclines his head in greeting and Edgar relaxes back on the ground.

“How long?” Ryan asks softly, one hand hovering awkwardly over Edgar's torso. Edgar shakes his head and pulls his hands away from his side, resting them on the grass instead. He's not bleeding anymore, just bloody like he usually is. There's a pang of relief in Michael's chest.

“Long enough.”

Ryan doesn't respond for a long minute, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on his thigh.

“Let's get you back to the castle.”

“I can get back myself.”

“I know.”

“Then why the fuck are you out here?”

Ryan scoffs.

“You know why.”

“'Cause you're an idiot.”

“Because I care about you.”

Edgar's silent for a moment and then -

“...shut up.”

Ryan laughs quietly and rests a hand on his own knee.

“I'd feel better if you let me walk you back.”

“I thought this romantic shit was supposed to be for Michael,” Edgar says with a thread of laughter in his voice. Ryan stands and waves the orb back down as Edgar slowly gets to his feet. The familiarity of their interactions reminds Michael that they were friends long before Michael came into Ryan's life. It's almost weird, somehow, that there's history between them – probably because Edgar seems so young, but it's nice to see.

Ryan turns back to Michael and the relaxed slump of his shoulders loosens the knot in Michael's chest, tied up from the waiting and the walking and the sheer _silence_ between them ever since they left the room. He seems suddenly older, the orb's light casting gaunt shadows in the hollow of his cheeks, exaggerating the darkness under his eyes.

Ryan starts walking to Michael, stopping almost _nervously_ in front of him. Michael's expecting an order – or maybe just any word, but Ryan _embraces_ him, pressing his temple against the side of Michael's helmet and breathing out a quiet _thank you_. Almost on instinct, Michael raises a hand to rest on the back of Ryan's neck, his grip clumsy with the gauntlets but he manages. Over Ryan's shoulder he sees Edgar floating a few paces away, flattening his hand against his wound and pulling it away to look at it, repeating the move over and over like he's expecting blood. Michael remembers that not seven hours ago there _was_ blood, thick and endless, and he shudders at the memory.

“Let's get back to the castle,” Michael says, averting his eyes from Edgar. Ryan squeezes him with the arms around his back and pulls away, running a shaky hand over his face before glancing over at Edgar.

“Ready to go?” He asks. Edgar's head snaps up and he nods, one hand still clutching his side. Ryan pulls out his bow, notches an arrow, and steps past Michael to head back the way they came.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Michael says to Edgar as they follow.

“Thanks,” Edgar says slowly, carefully, running his tongue over his teeth as if he's checking for something, but this time there's no blood.

–- 

When they emerge from the depths of the forest, Michael's surprised that it's only noon, his sense of time completely warped by the oppressive darkness of the forest. But the sun's beaming down on them from the centre of the sky, and Michael has to squint as he follows Ryan on a worn, forgotten path, cracking twigs under his boots. Here the birds chirp rather than caw and Michael doesn't jump at the littlest sound. Edgar's still quiet beside him, still poking curiously at his wound every so often, but he seems to be recovered – he cracks a smile at Michael's bitter grumblings when he stumbles over a branch and when he finally fades from view the last sound Michael hears is laughter.

With the potion's effects gone, the walk becomes somewhat lonelier for Michael and all he can do is watch the flutter of Ryan's cloak as he walks ahead. Ryan hasn't said much save for the occasional direction and the odd _watch out_ when Michael has to duck under a low branch. But there isn't as much concerned anger radiating from him, just exhaustion – Michael takes that as a good sign.

In the castle, Ryan heads straight to his room and quietly asks Michael to stay outside – Michael takes it with little offence – he _is_ the guard, after all. Inside the room he hears weapons being stored and the low tones of conversation.

An hour later, perhaps, or a little more, the door creaks open and Ryan hands Michael a flask and a small pouch – it feels like food. Michael takes the items with no response save for _thank you, sir_ , and Ryan dawdles in the doorframe, hands in his pockets, agitatedly worrying his lip with his teeth. Michael wants to kiss away that anxiety but it would hardly be appropriate right now.

And although Michael hasn't said anything about it, he's a bit annoyed with the prince – tramping through the woods with no explanation, hardly a word on the way back – and Michael would really like some sort of reason other than _there was another ghost_.

“You can – come in,” Ryan says awkwardly, stepping back to allow space for Michael. “If you want.”

Michael deeply considers refusing and just having lunch out here, but he also remembers the broken plea to _stay_ from last night and the freezing touch of Ryan's fingers when he handed Michael a potion this morning before they set out for the woods. _And_ he wants an explanation.

“Okay, sir,” he says, mostly just to annoy Ryan with the formality, and Ryan gestures for him to enter, closing the door behind him. Michael heads for the table near the window, sitting carefully down in one of the chairs and tugging off his helmet to set it beside his feet.

Ryan sits down opposite him, resting an elbow on the window sill and looking out. The royal guard training grounds are down there, and right now Michael can hear the _thwack_ of arrows hitting wooden targets.

Ryan doesn't talk while Michael has lunch, his gauntlets near his elbow as he bites into the sandwich Ryan gave him. The flask reveals itself to be magically cooled water, and Michael drinks in greedy, thirsty gulps while sunlight pours across the table.

The archery training gives way to combat training, dull _thwips_ traded in for the harsh clink of iron swords and the resounding ring of shields. Ryan rests his head against the window frame, the sun edging over his forearm and the lower half of his face, not quite reaching his nose.

“I'm sorry I was...short with you this morning,” Ryan says eventually, while Michael's folding up his empty paper wrapper.

“Yeah,” Michael says, neither forgiving nor outright condemning, and Ryan swallows.

“You didn't deserve that,” Ryan continues, glancing at him briefly. “Thank you for helping me. Last night and – and this morning.”

Michael doesn't reply, just takes another swig of his water.

“I can – relieve you, if you want,” Ryan says. “I'll talk to Matt.”

“No, no, don't - “ Michael sighs and scrunches up the wrapper in his fist, “ - don't bother.”

A beat of silence passes between them. Below them, a guard hollers a war cry and a flurry of swords ensues.

“I think you owe me an explanation,” Michael says, pushing the remains of his lunch to the side and leaning on the table with his forearms. Ryan nods and doesn't tear his eyes from the training.

“Yesterday, when I was summoned to the south wing,” Ryan starts, “there was - an injury. The hunting party found him in the creeper land and brought him back but he was enchanted. Cursed. He had – He was given creeper parts.” He sucks in a shuddering breath and continues. “There was gunpowder in him. We couldn't – No one could get close to him because then he'd start hissing and pulsing and – it hurt, he was begging for help, but we couldn't get near enough to examine and - “ Ryan breaks off and his mouth twists.

“He exploded,” Michael finishes quietly. Ryan nods.

“It wasn't pretty,” he says. “And that's – when there's a new ghost, especially from violence, and that _was_ terribly violent, they – they rip through everything near their resting place. They're just confused and - vengeful and scared and frustrated and - “ Ryan swallows thickly again and his fingers curl into a fist on the table, “ - they don't know what they're doing. But this – this tearing through everything, trying to escape, it hurts already existing ghosts and - “ he pauses “ - ethereally sensitive people.” He gestures weakly to himself. “Like me.”

“How does it hurt?” Michael asks.

“For ghosts it – makes them relive their death,” Ryan says. “So Edgar was – what you saw, that's how he died. And it hurts just the same. And for me, it felt like – I don't know, like I was being ripped apart. Inside. Like my ribs were - “ he gestures with his fingers as if to suggest _snapped_. 

A wave of pained sympathy crashes through Michael and he tentatively reaches forward to place his hand over Ryan's.

“That sounds awful,” he offers. Ryan's hand uncurls from a fist to let their palms rest together.

“It's not always – like that,” he says, hesitant. “Sometimes it's worse.”

“Worse? How could it be _worse_?” Michael asks, tucking his fingers under the back of Ryan's hand.

“Not really – for me,” Ryan says. “There's a limit on how much it can hurt the living. But for Edgar - “ Ryan frowns and Michael squeezes his hand in what he hopes comes across as reassurance.

“Was he trying to escape the – the new ghost?” Michael asks gently. “That's why he was in the woods?”

Ryan nods. “We've agreed on that spot, but sometimes he has to go further.”

“And every time he relives his death?”

Ryan shakes his head and then nods and - “Yes, he has to relive it, but – but sometimes there's more than what actually happened to him.”

“Like what?”

Ryan stays silent for a moment and shifts his gaze to the horizon. His jaw is tense. 

“Last time it tore him open. Completely.”

Michael's eyebrows draw together. “Like – open?”

Ryan nods grimly.

“Oh gods,” Michael breathes, tightening his grip on Ryan's hand.

“It's not always terrible,” Ryan says, inhaling shakily. “Sometimes it's just – sometimes his wound isn't nearly as deep. Or he doesn't cough up blood, he just - “ Ryan shrugs and Michael glances outside.

“It depends,” Ryan says. “Last night wasn't the worst but - “

“So does he feel it all?” Michael asks. He thinks of the hoarse screams and suppresses the shudder that rolls down his spine. “He - “

Ryan nods solemnly and silence falls while Michael works through this new information.

“I had no idea it was that bad,” he says. Ryan pulls his hand away and drops it in his lap.

“It's not the first time,” he replies. “I'm sorry for how I treated you.”

Michael chews on this apology and meshes it with the actions of the prince – yes, he had snapped, he had been frustrated, but now that Michael knows why – he understands the reaction better, regrets a little of what he said himself, and Ryan sounds so _genuine_ in his apology, regret clear in the downturn of his mouth that Michael thinks he can forgive him with a clear conscience.

“It's okay,” he says.

“Don't just say that,” Ryan says, still not looking at Michael. “I'm not trying to justify it.”

“I'm not,” Michael insists, turning his hand palm-up in invitation. “Ryan, trust me.”

Ryan glances at him. Hesitates.

Michael tries a small smile. Flexes his fingers.

Ryan's hand reaches out and hovers over Michael's before finally resting against it again. He sets his elbow on the table and leans forward a little as he lifts Michael's hand, meeting his eyes when he presses a gentle kiss to Michael's knuckles.

“I don't deserve you,” he mutters into Michael's fingers. With the air cleared a little, Michael feels better about relaxing, bringing up his other hand to prop his chin up as he leans in more.

“Too late,” he says, grinning wider at the flush that stains Ryan's cheeks. His palm warms against Michael's.

Ryan leans back in his chair to look out the window again, squeezing Michael's hand. This time the sun slants over more of his face, turning his left eye into a glittering blue and highlighting the faintest curve of a relieved smile. Michael lets himself relax fully and turns to watch the guards train outside, ducking and rolling from harmless bags of sand shot from dispensers.

–-

Michael spends a few hours the next day scrubbing the dirt and grime of the forest off his armour, dipping his sponge in a mix of water, soap, and Ryan's polishing potion and washing away the streak of mud that splattered across his breastplate.

Beside him, Trevor wipes a drying cloth over his vambraces and sets them aside to pick up a pair of greaves and start on them. They're sitting outside in Trevor's small garden behind his and Jeremy's quarters – over the low wooden fence is Michael's garden – enjoying the gentle sunshine as they clean armour.

“Was Ryan all right?” Trevor asks, dipping his sponge into the bucket the same time as Michael. “After Jack - “ he trails off in a silent question.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “It was just some – ghost trouble.”

Trevor nods and companionable silence settles between them. Children scream and laugh in the distance; even further away, animals bleat and low. Michael looks up at the castle walls a few shacks down – there's a patrol of archers walking slowly around the top. Trevor picks up his helmet next.

“Do you think Julio'll pull out?” Michael asks, going back to his cleaning. Trevor shrugs.

“Probably,” he says. “He's really not a fan of you and Ryan.”

Michael scoffs. “He's not a fan of _me_.”

“Ew, cooties!” Trevor mocks, laughing when Michael shakes his wet sponge in his direction. Michael laughs and sets his breastplate down to pick up his gauntlets.

“I'd say you could get one of those transformation potions, but Julio hates those, too,” Trevor says, squeezing out his dirty sponge into the grass.

“Unless I just pretend I'm a new suitor,” Michael says, playfully entertaining the idea of showing up looking like one of Julio's noblewomen. Trevor chuckles.

“I know a guy if you want to get some,” Trevor whispers, waggling his eyebrows. Michael chokes on his laughter.

“Yeah, you mean the potion-master?” He teases.

“Shut up, he's still a guy I know,” Trevor whispers, smirking. It's not like those potions are frowned upon or anything – Michael could just walk in and buy some straight off the shelf; in fact, he's pretty sure he saw a sale on them not two days ago.

“There's more fun to be had with those temporary ones than just fucking with Julio, anyway,” Trevor continues, the same time Michael says “Julio would hate to know what I've done with those temporary ones.”

They pause and look at each other. Trevor raises an eyebrow and Michael's cheeks heat and he launches his filthy sponge at Trevor when Trevor bursts into laughter.

“I didn't realise the prince liked both,” Trevor comments drily, tossing Michael's sponge in the bucket. “Did he ask you to take it?”

Michael smirks and fishes his sponge out of the bucket, leaning casually back into his chair.

“Never said _I_ took it,” he says calmly. Trevor gasps dramatically and Michael giggles at the display, shoulders shaking while Trevor presses a melodramatic hand to his chest.

“ _Michael_ ,” he says, shocked. “Oh, _Michael_.”

“What?” Michael asks – tries for innocent, but gets cheeky.

“I know too much now,” Trevor declares. “I can never look Ryan in the eye ever again.”

“Please, like you ever talked to him anyway.”

“Well now I definitely can't! He'll know, somehow, he'll know I know!”

Michael's laugher turns into unattractive snorting at Trevor's panicked act – one of the patrolling archers looks down at them and Trevor lifts his hand in a nervous wave.

“Julio _would_ hate to know about that,” Trevor says, a few minutes later, when their laughter has died down. “He'd _explode_.”

“Y'know, I think Geoff would actually like that,” Michael quips.

“Oh, he _definitely_ would.”

“D'you think he'd pay me if I offered to do it?”

–- 

Michael spends some quality time at the training grounds his next day off, tossing knives and fighting other guards with wooden swords until his shoulders ache and his legs are sore. His forearm took quite a battering when he was holding up his shield to fend off the flurry of hits from Blaine, and now he rubs it to soothe away the dull throbbing.

“Sorry,” Blaine says as he puts away his weapons next to Michael, gesturing at his arm. “Do you need anything?”

“No, it's fine,” Michael replies with a smile. “Just training. Nice move with the axe, by the way.”

Blaine looks over to the dummy with an axe embedded in its neck and laughs sheepishly.

“Thanks,” he says. Michael grins and leaves with a quick clasping of hands.

He glances up at Ryan's window – dusk is falling swiftly, the breeze turning sharp with cold, but Ryan's room doesn't light up. It's a good sign that he's in the basement, which is where Michael needs to go anyway.

Ryan's busy when Jeremy lets Michael in, flipping pages in a book and mixing potions in the cauldron. His second cauldron is bubbling, too, and he whirls around to tend to it as it spits and sizzles.

Michael presses a kiss to Ryan's cheek when he walks past, going to the shelf of red flower potions and grabbing two to tuck into his bag. Ryan glances at him and smiles – the first cauldron coughs up a plume of orange smoke and Ryan quickly spins to see to it as Michael carefully heads out. Sometimes he comes by to grab some of the flower potions – the ones from last time are starting to wilt in their garden, and he thinks Gavin'll appreciate the spot of brightness – and Ryan's fingers curl around his wrist before he can leave the room.

Michael's stopped mid-turn with a sweet kiss to his cheek, and then he's released and Ryan's back at his book, flipping another page and peering at whatever it says. Michael smiles and lets himself out, stopping for a quick chat with Jeremy before he wanders back home.


	8. Chapter 8

“Gods, those sheep are nothing but trouble,” Ryan says when Michael reminds him he has to go check on them. “I swear, Geoff only got them for his own amusement.”

They're in bed on a lazy, _lazy_ morning, Ryan's door enchanted while his guard is busy being naked in his bed, and Michael's torn between asking for breakfast or another round. He kind of wants to get Ryan back for all the teasing last night, but he's also lost quite a lot of energy to that teasing.

Ryan pulls Michael closer with the arm around his shoulders and Michael's nose brushes against his scruff. Late morning sunlight blazes across the ceiling, spills over the bed. There's a sheet shoved down to their waists, one of Ryan's knees drawn up and the other trapped flat by Michael's leg.

“That sounds like a very Geoff idea,” Michael agrees, drumming his fingers on Ryan's chest. Ryan's answering hum vibrates under his palm.

“I suppose I do have duties to perform,” Ryan sighs, flopping his other arm out on his other side.

“Yeah, you got some here,” Michael says before reaching to Ryan's other side and bodily urging him over, rolling them so Ryan's forced to settle on his elbows above Michael, who's decided what he's going to ask for.

“Do I?” Ryan asks with a raised eyebrow, a smile forming on his lips. Michael pulls him down for a kiss – lazy like the morning, warm like the sunshine – and Ryan hums approvingly into it.

“Yeah, you do,” Michael says, letting Ryan get comfortable above him, trailing kisses down Michael's jaw. His legs are trapped in the bracket of Ryan's own.

He gives Ryan a moment to relax before he shoves at him without warning, flipping them so Ryan lands hard on his back, eyes wide with initial surprise before they melt into something softer. His hands loop around Michael's neck, one buried in his hair and the other resting on his nape. Michael plants a hand on his chest and scoots up so his thighs are forcing Ryan's legs to splay open.

“Mm, and I suppose you want to take care of some of those duties?” Ryan asks cheekily, a slow grin stretching his mouth. Michael smirks and carefully plucks one of Ryan's hands from his body, pressing his lips to Ryan's quickening pulse.

“I feel like I have a few of my own to perform,” he says, grinning wickedly as he releases Ryan's hand.

“More pressing than the sheep?” Ryan teases.

“ _Incredibly_ more pressing than the sheep.”

–- 

The sheep are like fluffy, bleating children, wandering around their spacious paddock and nosing curiously at Michael's hand when he leans in to pet one. Ryan regards them with poorly contained amusement and Geoff with even _more_ poorly contained amusement, giggling a little madly to himself as he watches his sheep graze.

Michael notices a loop of rope around the neck of the one he's petting, and he feels around to find a small wooden rectangle attached to it – a _nametag_ , he realises, when he tilts his head to read it.

“Sheepy,” he reads out, deadpan. Ryan cocks an eyebrow and Geoff giggles again.

“I've named them all!” He says, sweeping his arm to indicate all five sheep and pointing as he calls out their names. “That's Sheepy, that's Sheepus, that's Wolfie - “

“Wolfie?” Ryan questions, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, he's got a bite to him,” Geoff says, “so, y'know, like wolf in sheep's clothing.” He frowns. “Fucker.”

“Aw, did he bite you, Geoff?” Ryan asks, like a pampering parent. Geoff nods and glares at Wolfie.

“What's that one's name?” Michael asks, pointing to one of the ones Geoff hasn't introduced yet.

“That's, uh, Prince Sheepson, and that's Sheeply!”

“Wow, looks like you got a contender,” Michael teases, nudging Ryan with an elbow.

“Oh no, whatever shall I do?” Ryan drawls.

“Jack named Prince,” Geoff supplies helpfully.

“And who came up with Sheepus?” Ryan asks. “Not your sort of name.”

“What? Oh, Gavin,” Geoff answers. “He came to talk to Jack about some - “ Geoff waves a hand in the air “ - enchanted bows or whatever.”

“That does sound like a Gavin name,” Michael agrees, watching as Sheeply headbutts Wolfie's flank.

“And how exactly do you propose to replace Hylume's export with five sheep?” Ryan asks, glancing sceptically at Geoff.

“It's just a start!” Geoff protests. “But look at them! They're beautiful!” He beams at the sheep like they're his own children and Michael's beginning to get a little worried about the depth of his attachment.

“They're my beautiful little wool makers,” Geoff croons, bending down to rub one on the head. “Yes, you are, yes you are. Who's Daddy's little market crasher?”

“Should – Should we leave him alone with them?” Ryan asks out of the corner of his mouth, both of them watching as Geoff scratches Sheepus on the chin.

“Shut up,” Geoff replies good-naturedly, petting Sheepus on the head before letting him go graze.

“Hey, I mean, I'm not judging,” Ryan says, holding his hands up in surrender. “If that's what you're into, that's what you're into.”

“Oh, sure, like you're one to talk, _cowfucker_.”

“Cowfucker?” Michael asks, turning to Ryan.

“I never - “ Ryan sighs and Geoff cackles loudly, grinning at his sheep. “I never did anything to Edgar, and you know it!”

“Suuuuure,” Geoff drawls, smugly crossing his arms. “Sure you didn't.”

“Geoff, you know perfectly well I didn't and you're a bastard for saying so.”

“Again, cowfucker?” Michael asks. Ryan sighs again.

“It's – look, it's something from when we lived out west – there was a cow – look, nothing happened, but the only two people who can corroborate are Geoff and Jack, and they'll _never_ let me have peace.”

“There was a cow,” Geoff says, giggling. “There was a hole.”

Michael quirks an eyebrow.

“The hole was for the cow go _into_!” Ryan protests, flustered, and when he realises what Geoff's tricked him into saying he groans loudly, dragging a hand over his face. “Look, nothing happened, you're just gonna have to trust me.”

“So you didn't fuck a cow?” Michael asks. Geoff laughs into his fist and Ryan glares daggers at him.

“No – noth – nothing happened,” Geoff wheezes through his laughter, nearly doubling over with the force of it. “He didn't – he never violated a cow.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says, turning back to Michael.

“At least not while I knew him,” Geoff adds, and Ryan tosses his hands up in surrender again, spinning sharply on his heel and walking away.

“I give up!” He announces. “I give up!”

Michael laughs and, when he realises Ryan isn't coming back, mutters a quiet “oh _shit_ ” and turns tail to catch up with his charge, Geoff's resounding laughter following him all the way.

–- 

Gavin takes it upon himself to cook up his own dye – for what, Michael has no idea, but Gavin announces he's going to the desert for _ingredients_ and promptly _leaves the hut_. Michael yanks open the door and tugs him to a stop with a grip on his arm, rolling his eyes and pulling the idiot back in.

“We'll lose daylight!” Gavin protests, pointing to the sun out the window. Michael sighs and sits him down on the bed, holding up a finger when he tries to speak again.

“Rather that than you,” Michael grumbles, raking a hand through his hair and opening a chest to grab his leathers. “No way you're going out there alone; I'll come with you.”

Michael wrangles on his leathers and some light iron armour for his arms and chest, securing his weapons belt around his waist and sheathing his glowing diamond sword on his left and a small axe on his right for whatever ingredients Gavin might be getting. He swings a satchel over one shoulder, empty save for a few healing potions and extra scraps of cloth. Gavin bounces impatiently on the bed.

“Okay, okay, let's go then,” Michael sighs. Gavin shoots up from the bed and to the door, a suspiciously cheerful spring in his step as he leads Michael out. He turns a sharp left and on the way past Michael knocks on Trevor's door, holding Gavin still with a hand on his shoulder.

“What?” Trevor asks when he opens the door, leaning heavily against the frame. The hut is dark behind him, his hair mussed up from sleep.

“Gavin wants to go the desert,” Michael says. “Wanna come help me make sure he doesn't break something?”

“Hey!” Gavin interjects. Trevor sighs and looks them up and down.

“Sure,” he says. “Give me five minutes.”

Michael pulls Gavin to the side of the road while they wait for Trevor, sitting down on the crumbling ruins of the low wall near the street. Gavin tightens the straps on his quiver and glances impatiently up at the sun – Michael pats his back and Gavin flashes him a wide, delighted grin, unable to contain his excitement.

Trevor strides up beside them with a satchel and his bow, armoured up a little like them with leathers and iron. He raises an eyebrow.

“We going or what?” He asks, and Gavin immediately jumps to his feet to head to the city gates. Michael and Trevor trail after him with equal parts amusement and dread – whenever Gavin's got an idea it's rarely a good outcome for anyone around him.

“So why are we going to the desert?” Trevor asks as Gavin chats quickly with a guard at the gate. Michael shrugs and hikes his bag up higher on his shoulder.

“Something about makin' dye,” he says.

“Oh great,” Trevor replies, completely deadpan. Gavin trots off down the road and they hurry to follow.

They pursue the path into the desert and once Gavin tramps off into the dunes, Michael pulls up a cloth over his mouth and nose and Trevor does the same, lifting a hand to see further as they cross the soft piles of hot sand.

Gavin disappears over a larger dune and when Michael and Trevor crest it they both shade themselves from the sunlight and find -

A cactus field. Gavin's in a fucking cactus field.

“What the _fuck_?!” Michael yells, storming down the dune as Gavin hacks at a piece of cactus with his axe. “We could get cactus in town! Why the fuck are we out here?!”

“Because, Michael, it's cheaper!”

“You can buy green dye from anywhere!” Michael protests, voice pitching a touch high. “It's literally just down the road why the fuck are we out here!”

“It's free!” Gavin replies, laughing as Michael just shakes his head.

“The cost is sand!” He shouts. “Sand! Everywhere! There is sand in my boots _right now_!”

“It'll come out,” Gavin says, tearing off the rest of the little cactus stump and pulling out the needles. “Come on, it'll be fun!”

Michael sighs and glances at Trevor, who just huffs out a laugh and shrugs.

“How much do you need?” Michael asks. Gavin perks up at the offer of help and looks at both of them, something dangerously mischievous in his eyes.

“At least enough to boil down into five flasks,” he says. “And then we need to get some stuff from the ocean.”

“The ocean?” Trevor asks, running a hand through his hair. “What could you possibly need from the _ocean_?”

“You'll find out!” Gavin hops over to the next cactus to start cutting off its branches and Michael just shrugs and heads to another to start chopping.

–- 

What Gavin neglected to tell them was that he needed _ink sacs_ from the ocean. Not water, or clay, or kelp, or coral. Ink sacs.

Which means right now Michael is soaked head-to-toe while Trevor laughs at him, bright and ringing in the slight wind whipping off of the water. Gavin's giggling madly and Michael heavily considers just drowning him right here in the salty shallows.

“You absolute fuck,” Michael says, wiping dripping water off his forehead. Trevor's just as wet as him – but that's because he _willingly_ dived into the ocean to wrestle with a squid and cut off some of its ink sacs – ink sacs that are now in a wet pile on a cloth in the sand a few paces behind them, staining it black. _Michael_ is wet because Gavin lost his balance and grabbed onto Michael to steady himself and ended up accidentally dunking Michael underwater.

“You fuck!” Michael roars, rushing towards Gavin and tackling him right into the water while Gavin squeals and tries to twist away – no such luck for him, and when he tries to run he just bowls Trevor over with both of them and two seconds later they're all grappling in the surf, Michael trying to toss Gavin in the deep part of the sea and Trevor trying to escape the flailing limbs but Gavin's kicking legs keep tripping him over.

Gavin ducks underwater to swim away and Michael gives chase, reaching for his ankle as they get into deeper water – a squid rushes past and Michael immediately turns to stab into its side, wrangling it towards him to rip out the ink sacs from between its tentacles. Trevor helps with the slippery affair and then they let it go back into the wild.

Michael hands Trevor a few sacs when they stand up in the shallows, panting hard. He glares at Gavin, who's surfacing a few paces over.

“Get him!” Michael shouts, and Trevor instantly launches a sac at Gavin – it lands with a wet slap against his soaked shirt and explodes in a burst of slick black. Michael cackles as they start pelting Gavin with the ink, making him shriek and stumble on sand as they completely cover him in the stuff.

Despite the ruined clothes, the day is actually pretty enjoyable – not that Michael would ever tell Gavin in those exact words – but as sunset edges over the horizon he loops an arm around Gavin's neck and offers to take him and Trevor out for dinner and, well, that'll be a whole 'nother adventure.

–- 

“Michael, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Michael jumps at the hand on his shoulder and whirls around to see – the king, oh shit – Michael immediately ducks his head and sheathes the dagger he was holding – Geoff's caught him on the training ground, blowing off a little steam before he takes over for Jeremy.

“Yessir,” he says all in a rush, because right now he's Michael: royal guard not Michael: Ryan's lover.

“Come.” Geoff pulls his hand away and leads him into the castle – a few steps behind Michael, Geoff's guards follow. Michael adjusts the clasp on his leather breastplate and keeps his eyes down as they walk.

They come to a stop outside Geoff's main office, just off the throne room, used for strategy meetings and mission debriefings. Michael's never been in here.

Geoff opens the door and politely asks his guards to stay outside before he invites Michael in with a sweep of his hand. The door bangs solidly shut behind them and Geoff walks around to his chair, sitting down and gesturing to another one across the desk. Michael nervously sits, eyes downcast and feeling distinctly like a disobedient schoolboy.

Geoff leans back in his chair and laces his hands over his abdomen, regarding Michael with an unreadable look. For a long moment, no one speaks.

“I wanted to talk to you about Ryan,” Geoff says, and Michael is struck with the sudden fear that Geoff's about to order him to end his relationship with the prince. That maybe Geoff thought it was just a fling but now it's gone on too long and -

“Relax,” Geoff says. “You're not in trouble.”

Michael swallows to ease his dry throat and looks up.

“Sir?”

Geoff sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. He runs a hand through his hair.

“I will confess - “ he says, looking off to Michael's left, “ - that when this – romance started up between you two, I thought maybe it was just an infatuation. Ryan's not one for such flimsy things but – I don't know, I thought maybe you might have been the exception.”

Michael stays silent and Geoff turns his unreadable gaze onto him. Michael keeps his eyes forward and ignores the guilty urge to look down.

“Ryan is completely enamoured with you,” Geoff says, and laughs a little. “The last time I saw him like this was – well, never. He's completely heads over heels for you.”

“Sir?” Michael squeaks. Geoff smiles and laces his fingers together again.

“I understand this is an...unlikely possibility, but I have to ask, for Ryan's sake and, quite possibly, the kingdom's.”

“Uh, the kingdom's, sir?” Michael asks, voice jumping an octave or two.

“I am quite assured on Ryan's end that he has no intention of ending this relationship with you,” Geoff says, and his mouth tightens into something more serious. “But with regards to your side – you're not just doing this as a – as a joke or anything, right? Not a quick fancy with a prince to get it out of your system?”

“No,” Michael says, horrified at the implication. “Absolutely not, I'd never do that to him.”

“So you're in it for however long it is?” Geoff asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Michael says, and then pauses. “Wait, did I just – have I just agreed to some contract?”

“No, no,” Geoff laughs, his seriousness disappearing with his smile. “And I'm not saying it's forever. I just merely want to make sure that your side of the relationship is genuine.”

“Sir, may I speak freely?” Michael asks. Geoff nods and gestures for him to speak.

“Fuck you,” Michael says calmly. “I wouldn't do that to Ryan.”

“I know, I know – I said it was an unlikely possibility!” Geoff protests. “But I had you ask. You understand. I can't have you breaking Ryan's heart over a curiosity.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, relaxing a little. “But what did you mean by the kingdom's sake?”

Geoff sighs again and folds his arms on the desk, the atmosphere suddenly sobering up.

“Look, Michael,” he says, rubbing his chin and again not quite meeting Michael's eyes, “it is entirely possible that Ryan may ask you to marry him. Not – Not anytime soon, but in a few years if - well, if it happens.”

Michael ignores the little backflip of his heart at the mention of marriage – and to Ryan, no less, and he tamps down the excited flutter that Geoff thinks it's possible.

“And, I'd imagine, if you two are like you are now,” Geoff says, gesturing as if to mean both of them, “you're stupidly in love and you, Michael, will say yes.” He cocks an eyebrow at Michael, who just nods slowly.

“And in that case, after me you'd both be king – not that I have any intention of stopping anytime soon, mind you – and all I want to know is if you'd be willing to take that role.”

“Uh, Geoff?” Michael says – he has no idea how to run a kingdom, let alone _rule_ one – and Geoff stops his train of thought with a raised hand.

“It's not anytime soon,” he reminds him. “Really. And you could say no now and that's fine, but I'm simply curious.”

“I hardly know how to run my house,” Michael says, thinking back to that morning when Gavin managed to knock over and break all their water bottles. Geoff chuckles warmly and drops his hand.

“I think you'd be fine,” he says. “I trust you, Michael – I don't pick the royal guards lightly.”

“I thought Ryan picked me,” Michael says with a confused twist of his mouth. “Don't the charges pick their guards?”

Geoff waves a hand. “Pah, he was never going to pick you,” he says, and for a moment Michael feels a little hurt, but then Geoff adds, “He had such a crush on you there was no way he would give in to the temptation of having you around him half the time. No, he chose someone else and I overrode it. And you were one of the most talented in your squad – no way was I passing you up.”

Michael smiles at the praise and Geoff grins, leaning back in his chair.

“But if it _did_ come to – if I _did_ step down,” Geoff says cautiously, his grin fading a little, “the prospect of – being in charge of the kingdom wouldn't scare you away?”

Michael shakes his head immediately.

“I'll take the challenge,” he says. “Can't promise I'll be successful.”

Geoff laughs and Michael relaxes at the sound, reassured by Geoff's amusement.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Geoff chuckles. “Now don't you have a job to do?”

“Yessir,” Michael replies cheerfully, standing and bowing his head politely. Geoff dismisses him with a wave and a smile and Michael feels significantly lighter as he steps out of the room.

–- 

“I think if we build the paddock out there, we could keep it pretty close to the river,” Jack says, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's a good source of power.”

“Yeah, but then it's in the way of the trader post,” Ran counters, his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table.

“Oh shit, you're right,” Jack mutters, mouth twisted in thought.

“We could do it round the east,” Ryan says.

“No, I want to keep it in the west because of the wolves,” Jack replies.

“Good point. Where the fuck is Geoff? They're his fucking sheep,” Ryan grumbles, shifting in his chair.

“Yeah, it was his idea,” Jack agrees, looking around the room as if Geoff'll walk in any moment.

Michael shares a bored look with Trevor and sighs.

They're in one of the big meeting rooms, Jack and Ryan beside each other in two of the chairs around the big wooden table. They've given their guards ease, so Michael and Trevor immediately plopped down at the small two-seater table near the unlit fireplace, silent and bored out of their minds.

Yeah, they're still on duty, but there's not much to guard when Ryan and Jack are just talking about _sheep_. It's been half a godsdamn hour and they're still talking about them.

The scrape of Michael's armour when he shifts his leg seems too loud in the room, but Ryan and Jack hardly notice.

“Put it next to the pigs,” Ryan says. “Or by the chickens.”

“I'm already extending the pigpen, but I can put the sheep further down. How many does Geoff want, anyway?”

Ryan lifts and drops one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “You tell me.”

“We're gonna need a lot if he wants to rival Hylume's supply.”

“He's determined, Jack, what can I say?”

“What, so – what, so far he's got five, right?”

“Yep.”

“Has he – told you when he's gonna get any more?”

“Nope.”

“Godsdamnit Ryan, you're useless.”

“How am I useless?! He said talk to you, I'm talking to you!”

“Yeah, about _nothing_.”

“I figured he'd tell you!”

“He's told me nothing!”

“He sent you here with _no_ information?”

“Yeah!”

“With _nothing_?”

“Yes, Jack! Nothing!” Ryan protests straightening in his chair. “Why the fuck do you think I'm asking you?!”

Jack sighs and scratches his cheek. “I don't know. Fuck it, I'll build it by the pigs.”

“Finally,” Ryan mutters. “A _decision_.”

“Shut up, you aren't making any.”

“I made the decision to talk to you – clearly a poor one.”

“Fuck you, Ryan.”

Ryan chuckles and that breaks the weird tension between them – Jack cracks a smile and leans back in his chair.

“Want some more of those strength potions?” Ryan asks, glancing up at Jack.

“Yes, please – don't need my workers collapsing because they can't lift stone.”

“I'll get it to you tomorrow.”

Trevor's head slides against the wall towards Michael – when their helmets bump Trevor straightens with a start, a surprised noise slipping out. Michael raises an eyebrow and catches Trevor's sheepish expression through the visor.

The noise makes Jack and Ryan look over – Trevor lifts his hand in an awkward greeting and Jack laughs, pushing himself away from the table.

“Well, I think it's time for me to go,” Jack says. “Even my guard is falling asleep.”

“I don't blame 'im,” Ryan says, standing up with Jack. He glances over at Michael. “I'm sure mine's not faring too well on that front, either.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says, but Jack just shakes his head and steps over to offer a hand to help him up. Trevor takes it.

“I'm perfectly awake,” Michael says, shifting to stand as he glares at Ryan.

“Of course you are,” Ryan says. “You're absolutely riveted by the sheep,” he adds saccharinely, grinning at Michael's scoff. At the reminder of the sheep Ryan turns to call to Jack, who's already at the door.

“Oh, I see you named a new successor!”

“He'd be better than you!” Jack calls back without even looking, laughing as he leaves. Ryan rolls his eyes with a smile and turns back to Michael, who steps forward to stand in front of him.

“Suppose we should go work on those potions, huh?” Ryan asks, jerking his head towards the door.

“We? It's all you, man,” Michael says with a snort, following as Ryan heads out of the room. “I ain't doin' shit with potions.”

–- 

Ryan disappears in the depths of the vast castle library after dinner, searching intently for something as Michael trails lazily after him, idly running his fingers over well-worn spines. Geoff's amassed quite the collection here – Ryan heads into potionmaking and Michael stays by fables, curiously pulling out a slim red book and flipping through its pages. It's a familiar children's tale, printed here on yellowing paper with some notes scribbled in the margins.

Michael carefully shelves it again and follows the torches to the little reading nook hidden in the middle of the library. There's a fire already going, casting a warm, welcoming orange glow over the red leather sofas crowded around it, piles of books by their feet and stacked on the small table between them. There's a pair of gloves next to them – Michael recognises them as Geoff's, must have been left here earlier.

He walks past to peek around the corner of the next huge bookshelf, winds his way around to potionmaking to check on Ryan – he seems fine, brow knitted in concentration as he pages through two books. The torch on the wall beside him crackles and pops and Michael leaves him alone, instead wandering around to weaponsmithing to idly peruse the manuals.

He finds a guide on diamondsmithing tucked between two thick volumes of the history of weapons, leans against the solid oak of the bookcase as he skims it. It's interesting, sure, how many different ways there are to work with diamond – through heat or magic or pressure or potions – but overall a somewhat dull read while he's waiting for the prince.

Michael puts it back and heads back to fiction, pulls out the first book he catches eye of and heads back to the nook to plop down on a sofa and read it. He stashes his helmet by Geoff's gloves and relaxes into the plush cushions, letting out a sigh at the comfort.

The library's been here since Geoff's ancestors, but Geoff's one of its most frequent visitors, voraciously reading the new volumes brought in by traders, filling the shelves with books from all over the kingdom, from guides on diamondsmithing to children's fairytales. He makes sure it's always in well working order - the shelves dusted and cleaned, the torches freshly lit – and the clear amount of care he has for this place makes it feel well-used and familiar. Michael supposes that's why Ryan likes it so much – Michael himself isn't much for books, but he usually likes tagging along to visits, exploring the strange depths of knowledge hidden in here and soaking in the atmosphere as he waits for Ryan. Sometimes he picks out a book for Gavin or Lindsay if he spies something he think they'll like.

The other occupants of the castle frequent the library often enough that it's rarely empty during the day, always someone reading or searching, but it's empty save for them now as darkness falls across the kingdom.

Michael's eyelids droop as the fire warms him, resting his head against the leather and breathing in the familiar smell of paper and embers. The book slides slowly from his fingers and drops softly to his lap as he dozes off, only faintly aware that he's still on guard duty right now.

The next thing he registers is fingers on his cheek, and the touch startles him awake, makes him accidentally knock the book off his lap as he straightens. Ryan brushes his thumb over Michael's cheekbone and reaches down to pick it up before Michael can.

“Sorry,” Michael says, grabbing his helmet as Ryan sits down next to him.

“It's okay,” Ryan says quietly. His thumb traces under Michael's eye and a slight frown tugs at his lips. “You haven't got much sleep lately.”

He really _hasn't_ got much sleep lately – the hunting headquarters a few doors down from his hut got a new batch of untamed wolves, and they howl all through the night.

“It's okay,” Michael says. “It happens.”

Ryan frowns again and Michael tears his eyes away from his face to glance at the small pile of books on the table. He can't understand their titles – written in archaic runes that Michael never learnt, but they're almost pristine in their condition.

“What'd you get?” He asks.

“Just some research,” Ryan says, gently turning Michael's face back to him. His hand travels up to run through Michael's hair and Michael resists the urge to groan at the touch, his eyelids fluttering as Ryan's fingers drag over his scalp. Ryan leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I had planned to work downstairs some more,” Ryan murmurs, fitting his palm to the back of Michael's head. “But I do not wish to strain you.”

“It's my job,” Michael mumbles, lulled into a lazy trance by Ryan's touch. “Don't worry about me.”

“I quite like worrying about you,” Ryan says. “Gives me something to do.”

Michael huffs out a laugh and Ryan smiles, presses another soft kiss to his cheek.

“Come on,” he says, his hand slipping away as he stands up. Michael groans reluctantly but follows, grabbing his helmet as Ryan gathers up his books.

Ryan picks up Michael's book, too, and shelves it as they head to the exit, falling into step beside Michael as they walk down narrow hallways. Distantly Michael hears the sound of excited chatter and boisterous laughter – Ryan plants a hand on his shoulder and steers them away from it, leading him down another, smaller corridor instead.

When they get to Ryan's room Michael obediently tugs his helmet back on and leans against the wall as Ryan unlocks the door. Ryan steps in and Michael doesn't follow, instead fixes his gaze on the stone wall across from him and wills himself alert.

Ryan scoffs and then there's a hand on his wrist, yanking him inside and Michael yelps as the door shuts behind him, locking with a wave of Ryan's fingers.

“Sir?” Michael asks, more out of habit than from actual, awake thought. Ryan's laugh rumbles in his chest and he gently pulls off Michael's helmet, starts unclasping his breastplate. Michael groans and plants a hand on Ryan's chest to push him away.

“Ryan, I love you but I'm too tired for that right now,” he says. Right now he just wants to sleep, or, barring that, stare blankly at a wall for the night and making sure no one breaks into Ryan's room.

“I'm not trying to have sex with you, silly,” Ryan says, resuming Michael's undressing when Michael just 'huh?'s stupidly.

“Don't want to shower with your clothes on, do you?” Ryan asks, setting armour plates down and unlacing Michael's leathers. Once he's freed Michael's upper body of diamond and loosened the leather he embraces him, hands firm against his back as Michael rests his chin on Ryan's shoulder.

“Why am I showering?” Michael mumbles, relaxing more into Ryan's arms. “Thought you were going downstairs.”

Ryan hums against his neck and squeezes him a little.

“Downstairs isn't that important,” he murmurs. “You are.”

Michael wants to roll his eyes and tease but he doesn't have the energy for it, instead huffs out a quiet laugh into Ryan's shirt and steps back when Ryan releases him.

Michael stays silent save for the occasional grunt as Ryan undresses him – tries to help, but Ryan gently pushes his hand away and insists on doing it himself. He brushes his lips over Michael's knuckles when he takes his hand to lead him to the shower, starting the water before smoothly removing his own clothes.

The water is relaxingly warm against his skin, only matched by the undue warmth of Ryan's hands as he presses slow kisses to Michael's mouth, Michael pulling him in for more contact, losing himself in the gentle pressure of Ryan's lips as his hands sweep over Michael's body. There's soap at one point, smeared over them and Michael laughing tiredly as Ryan slicks his hair comically flat, pushes Michael's up into a strange mohawk. All of the sleepless tension seeps out of Michael's body, drains away with the bubbly water and then replaced with the comfort of the fluffy towel Ryan magicks out of a chest.

Ryan urges him into the barest minimum of clothes and drags him into the bed – Michael hardly has the energy to protest, remind Ryan that he wanted to work in the basement – tugging up the blanket over them as Michael wraps an arm around his waist and rolls to lie facedown in the pillow. Ryan settles on his back and turns to press his lips just above Michael's ear, one hand coming up to rest on Michael's forearm.

Michael can tell Ryan's not really tired, not enough to sleep, but he's quiet and comforting beside him, chest rising and falling with his breathing and his thumb rubbing soothing circles into Michael's skin.

Not minutes later Michael's dragged into sleep, pulled under by the ceaseless exhaustion pushing at his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I, uh, I know I'm not popular or known or anything, and this fic isn't widely-read or anything close to that, but I just wanted to say that if something in here, I don't know, inspires you somehow or whatever, or you want to write a background ship in this universe, I'm totally okay with that. And please let me know if you _do_ create anything because I'd like to see it! 
> 
> Alternatively: tell me your thoughts on [my Tumblr](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com)!


	9. Chapter 9

Winter descends, and with it the relentless chill of the castle. The stone walls are cold to the touch, hardly warmed by the blazing torches, and Michael has to dress in thicker cloth now to prevent the chill from leeching into him. Facial hair is back in style – not that Michael can grow much, anyway – and the kingdom trades out linens for velvet, lace for furs.

The weather is usually quite mild in Consequor save for the summer heatwave, but when winter hits it always hits hard – a couple weeks of shivering and complaining and then it'll settle again, still cold but not icy. Rain'll hit later, and maybe this year they'll get snow.

Warm meals are the norm now, cold drinks swapped for heated mugs of cocoa and spiced rum. Fireplaces roar in the taverns, heavy jackets swing on rickety coat hooks. Ryan creates a batch of heating potions and leaves them outside the basement in a box – Jeremy uses them more than Michael.

Smell doesn't carry as much in winter as it does in the thick heat of summer, but Michael can still catch unpleasant whiffs of whatever dastardly potion Ryan's concocting inside the basement. He wrinkles his nose at the rotten stench and jumps at the muffled explosion that rumbles inside the room. Ryan curses loudly and Michael inches away from the door, coughing inside his helmet as the odour wafts out from under the door in a wave of thick grey smoke. It dissipates easily enough but the scent lingers in the air, surely staining Michael's clothes.

A few guards enter the hallway and Michael nods politely as they march past, trying not to screw up his face under the visor. They leave at the other end and Michael releases the breath he was holding – another small explosion booms inside the room and the fresh wave of the smell makes Michael cough wetly, yanking off his helmet and doubling over with the force of it.

The smoke clears again but the stench is _overpowering_ , washing over Michael in foul waves that make him shudder and choke on his own spit. He reaches out an armoured fist and bangs loudly on the door, tears springing up as he coughs violently. Usually he's pretty okay with nasty smells, but this is a whole new level of it – it stinks of zombie, rotting and _dead_ and thoroughly unpleasant to his senses.

Something clatters to the ground inside and then glass shatters – Michael bangs again, more urgently this time, desperate to escape this horrible, choking smell, and the door swings open magically – Michael doesn't enter, instead coughs roughly into his elbow and turns his face from the open door to scent hell. Ryan must hear him, because then he steps out and gasps before rushing back in – Michael's too busy trying not to cough up a lung he doesn't even hear when Ryan returns, yanking the door shut behind him and pressing a cold flask into Michael's hands. He uncorks it and shoves Michael's hands up to his face – Michael coughs again and Ryan insistently presses the flask to his nose.

Michael hesitantly sucks in a breath, expecting more awfulness, but instead the sharp, fresh scent of the ocean cuts through the haze and he inhales greedily, holding the flask close as he breathes in its scent.

“Sorry,” Ryan says, wiping at Michael's teary eyes with a thumb. “I didn't realise it had escaped the room.”

“What the fuck are you _doing_?” Michael rasps, sucking in more of the scent potion.

“Ex...perimenting?” Ryan tries, giving him a small, nervous smile. Michael narrows his eyes.

“It smells awful,” he says. “How the fuck are you still breathing?”

“I hadn't taken much notice of the smell,” Ryan says, still holding onto Michael's hands. “I have a - stronger potion to mask it.”

Michael turns his face to cough again, quickly presses his nose to the bottle to prevent any more of the awful odour permeating any part of him. Ryan leans in a little to share in the scent – out here he's surrounded by the stench, much like Michael is, and it feels a little ridiculous that they're crowded around this tiny opening of a small flask in a narrow corridor underneath the castle.

“You can go upstairs,” Ryan murmurs. “I need to work on this some more, but I'll be up when I'm done.”

Michael shakes his head and holds the flask dearly to his nose, clutching it like a lifeline.

“There's shit fucking exploding in there,” Michael says. “No way I'm leaving you alone with that.”

“It shouldn't be exploding,” Ryan mumbles, looking off to the side and frowning.

“Well go and fix it, then. I'll be out here.”

Ryan nods and inhales deeply before stepping back, the warmth of his palm lingering on Michael's cheek as he disappears back into the room, shutting the door solidly behind him.

–- 

Michael, thankfully, has the benefit of Ryan's magical hands, and all he has to do is kiss the prince to make them heat against his skin. It's quite useful, in the winter, with the chill of the air nipping at them and the furs on Ryan's bed soft against his knees.

Ryan's hands roam all over his body like he knows what Michael's seeking, and with the increasing fervour of his kisses, Michael's starting to suspect he wants a little something more than just kissing. Michael is perfectly happy to oblige – gently pushes the prince down on his back and falls on top of him, returning his mouth to Ryan's not moments later. Ryan hums happily into his mouth and his fingers heat almost unbearably against the thin, sensitive skin over Michael's neck and hip.

“Mm, I believe I promised to show you something,” Ryan murmurs, pushing Michael up with a firm hand on his chest.

“What?” Michael asks breathlessly, furrowing his brow at Ryan's smirk.

“Let me up,” Ryan says, follows with another kiss before letting Michael swing off of him. Michael plops down on the edge of the bed, a shiver running through him when Ryan's hands slip away as he stands, promises Michael he'll be back in a minute before he disappears into the bathroom.

Michael rubs a hand over his mouth and waits as patiently as he can for the prince – there's a certain insistent something starting between his legs at the anticipation, for with the pace Ryan had been setting, this can only be a good surprise. Michael tries to think of what it could be – a new potion? Another interesting, exotic fragrance? Clothing?

 _Clothing_ – oh gods, surely it must be -

At the same moment Michael realises, the door opens to reveal Ryan in – in that kilt from Gyme, yes, with the charming gold clasps and the impeccable pleats. Michael's breath leaves him in a loud exhale and Ryan grins, leans one forearm up against the frame above his head as his shirt falls open, its hem teasing over the waist of the kilt.

“I had almost forgotten about it,” Michael breathes, shamelessly admiring the gorgeous picture the prince makes, oozing confidence and allure like he knows exactly what this is doing to Michael. He probably does, on further thought. Michael can see the goosebumps on Ryan's bare thighs – his bare _legs_ , casually crossed at the ankle like he's merely waiting, not teasing.

Ryan walks over to him, stopping just in front of the bed so Michael can come eye-to-eye with the clasps, gleaming gold in the light of Ryan's room. This time he pushes Michael back with a light shove to his shoulder, climbs over him with all the cockiness of a prince.

Michael allows him one, two kisses before he secures a grip on Ryan's torso and bodily rolls them over, kneeling in the splay of Ryan's legs to see what a pretty picture the prince makes for him. Ryan's hands go above his head, elbows bent, wrists crossed, his eyes hooded as he looks up at Michael.

The kilt has hiked up halfway up Ryan's thighs, leaving enough hidden that Michael truly doesn't know if the prince is wearing underwear. He suspects not.

The shirt falls open either side of Ryan, leaving his chest bare for Michael to touch, run adoring hands down his ribs and to the waist of the kilt. His palms fit over the faint jut of Ryan's hipbones under the cloth and he can't help the pleased little gasp he makes at Ryan's pliancy.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” Michael says, glances up to see the prince's slight flush at the praise.

“You chose well, then,” he replies smoothly, fingers curling into fists above his head.

“I did – in many ways,” Michael adds. He slowly runs his hands down over the kilt, feels the light tensing of Ryan's thighs under his fingers. He reaches Ryan's bare knees – squeezes them gently before moving back _up_ , under the kilt, his thumbs ghosting over inner thighs and higher until he confirms his suspicions. The prince is not wearing any underwear at all.

The prince is also already aroused from just these slight touches, hardening a little more at the brushes of Michael's fingers and oh, Michael knows exactly how he's going to handle the prince tonight. Ryan meets his eyes despite the blush creeping up his neck and Michael grins, leaning over to press a deep kiss into his open, pliant mouth.

He strokes until Ryan's leaking into the cloth of the kilt, making a small damp patch that darkens the purple and green, smears over Michael's thumb. Michael breaks away to reach for the jar of oil on the table, leaving it by Ryan's shoulder as he's pulled back in by warm, eager hands, pressed over his shoulders, his ribs, heating his skin to near burning as Ryan kisses him. Michael moans into his mouth, his hips bucking forward almost reflexively, bumping against Ryan's, and Ryan merely grins and slides a hand into Michael's hair to pull lightly as Michael pushes himself up, twists open the jar to scoop up the oil on his fingers.

Ryan's palms flare to scorching when Michael circles his fingers around his hole, accompanied by a loud groan the prince tries to muffle into Michael's jaw. He quickly reigns himself back in, his hands settling to gentle heat again as they slide down to Michael's hips.

Michael opens him slow – at first, but it's incredibly hard to keep teasing when Ryan braces his feet on the bed and rocks up so _invitingly_ into Michael's fist, panting hard between them and a flush spilling down his cheeks onto his throat. Michael moves to mark it up as Ryan scrabbles at his trousers and shoves them open, _finally_ touching him where he's aching.

Ryan's fingers are a little uncomfortably warm for such sensitive skin but he keeps his touch light, dancing over the head and squeezing quickly around the base to make Michael shiver and moan. Michael asks breathlessly for a protective and Ryan replies with an equally breathless _don't want one_ and who is Michael to deny the prince's wishes when he whimpers like that at the crook of Michael's fingers? Michael pulls out another noise and Ryan becomes impatient, roughly pulling him down for a fierce kiss and shuddering at the loss of his fingers.

Michael pushes up the kilt some more, exposing the pale skin of Ryan's inner thighs and how wet and open he is for Michael, trembling finely at the teasing. He thinks, distantly, he'll have to mark up some of that skin later, bite bruises into it until Ryan's gasping his name all over again.

Ryan groans loudly when Michael pushes in, face screwed up and eyes shut as he clenches almost unbearably tight around him. A pause and Michael pets carefully over his thighs, his cock, waiting for the sharp exhale that means Ryan's adjusted to this much, at least. At the sound of it he rises up on his knees a little more to ease the burn, smears some more oil over the join of them and bites back a groan when he slips all the way in, Ryan tight and hot around him.

“You okay?” Michael asks quietly, running one hand over Ryan's thigh and the other idly over his dick, stroking light over the length to distract him. Ryan nods and his eyes open to meet Michael's, his brow creased a little in the middle. He rolls his hips in a silent request and Michael curses sharply under his breath, pulling out slow and sliding in again to make Ryan's head fall back against the pillow.

One of Michael's hands stays on Ryan's hip and the other roams all over as he builds a slow rhythm, snapping in and easing out the way he knows Ryan likes, makes him shivery and desperate all over. Ryan's hands fist in the furs and one claps over his mouth when Michael reaches the pace that starts to force noise out of him, muffling himself as Michael speeds up a fraction.

It feels so much naughtier like this – Michael's shirt was long discarded and his trousers are mostly off, but Ryan's still completely dressed, for all intents and purposes, shirt open and kilt rucked up so Michael can do _this_. The thought sends a dirty thrill down Michael's spine and he thrusts in harder than he means to, startles a high whine from the prince that only makes him do it _again_.

The noise of them grows obscene in the room, lewd and wet and punctuated by all the pretty noises Ryan's trying to conceal, teeth sinking into his knuckles as Michael pushes all sorts of sound out of him.

“Oh _gods_ , Ryan,” Michael gasps when Ryan clenches particularly hard around him, drawing him closer to the edge than he would have thought possible. At the pace he's at now – fast, a little choppy with desperation – he'll come in the next few minutes, and Ryan's making a constant string of noise now, all sorts of whimpers and moans.

Michael wraps a firm hand around Ryan's cock and starts stroking in time with his thrusts – _gods_ , still under the kilt, the fabric heavy on his wrist as he jerks Ryan underneath it – and not a minute later he feels Ryan twitch and come with hardly a sound, spilling over Michael's fingers and soaking a small patch of the kilt.

Ryan's breath rushes out in a shaky exhale of Michael's name and he stifles another moan, hips bucking up frantically as Michael doesn't let up his pace. Michael bites his lip and digs his fingers into Ryan's thigh and comes with a groan, stilling abruptly as he fills Ryan, panting too hard to hear his own heartbeat.

Eager hands grasp as his skin and urge him to lean over – Michael follows easily, still a little hazy with the release, and Ryan's mouth moves messy against his, the kiss broken by gasping and whimpering as Michael shifts inside Ryan.

Michael reluctantly pulls himself away from Ryan's lips to pull out, watching a trail of come follow him and seep into the kilt trapped under Ryan. He uses two fingers to push the rest back in and flips up the front of the kilt to see the damage. Ryan's dick is messy with come on the head, smeared white over his slit, and there's a definite mess of it on the fabric, soaked in and ruinous.

“Ryan,” Michael murmurs, running his fingers over sensitive skin and grinning at the flinch of Ryan's hips when he tries to twist them away. He glances up to find Ryan wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hair a complete mess, chest rising and falling in time with his panting. He's absolutely gorgeous. Michael can't resist surging back up to kiss him, this time settling on his elbow as Ryan threads a hand in his hair and makes him breathless all over again.

“I take it you liked it?” Ryan asks a few kisses later, running a soothing hand down Michael's spine.

“It was a gift for you,” Michael says. Ryan laughs.

“I suspect not only for me,” he teases, and Michael smiles against his mouth.

“You can't prove that,” he says, and lets Ryan roll them onto their sides.

–- 

Michael is on duty when Ryan goes to oversee the construction of the sheep paddock, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak with thick boots and a couple of heating potions for the workers.

It's a truly awe-inspiring affair, to watch Jack's men work. As Jack and Ryan converse near the gate to the unfinished paddock, Michael watches the workers put up fences and hammer them into place. First they're spiked deep into the ground, with an unnatural strength that Michael attributes to Ryan's strength potions, and then lashed to their neighbours with rope and hammered in with thick, sturdy nails. While one group adds another section, another group sands the previous one, smoothing it out before pouring a gloss all over it to protect it from the elements.

It's a huge paddock, with a large unfinished water trough in one corner and exuberantly green grass sprouting up inside – far too green for winter, but Michael watches another man pour a mysterious pink liquid over a patch of dry grass and it springs to sudden, vivacious life.

“Watch out!” A woman calls, and Michael whirls around and ducks when he sees a plank of wood swinging right at him – he misses it, only narrowly, and the woman laughs good-naturedly before she directs the worker with the wood to somewhere else.

“It's huge, isn't it?” Someone says – Trevor, Michael realises, who has appeared at his other side. “Wonder how many sheep they'll fit in there.”

“Dozens, I'd imagine,” Michael replies, considering the paddock. “Perhaps fifty.”

“Ah, yes, let's rival Hylume with our fifty sheep,” Trevor comments dryly. “What a conquest!”

Michael laughs and Trevor joins him, both of them watching in idle fascination as workers hollow out the stone trough with a pickaxe.

“Do you suppose he'll name all of them?” Michael muses, glancing over to where Ryan and Jack are still talking.

“Geoff? Oh, certainly.”

Another section of fence gets loudly hammered in, and movement in their peripherals makes both Michael and Trevor turn to their charges – Ryan signals for Michael to return and Trevor goes with him, both of them pink-cheeked with cold and their armour like ice.

“Let me know if there's anything I can do,” Ryan says to Jack.

“Another batch of those strength potions would be good,” Jack says, glancing over at his construction. “But I imagine we shan't need you until they need to be dyed.”

Ryan laughs and leaves Jack with a quick handshake – Michael nods politely and follows the prince back to the castle, Ryan's cloak fluttering in the icy wind.

–- 

The first two weeks of winter pass slowly and coldly, but then the ice eases up and Gavin's no longer piled under furs to sleep at night, shivering in the morning when Michael makes breakfast. It's still chilly, just not harsh enough for frostbite now, and there's a stunningly, wonderfully clear two days before the rain sets in.

The first bout of it nearly floods Michael and Gavin's garden and they have to break a hole in the bottom of their fence to let some run out so it doesn't overflow into the hut. The tavern tables and outdoor seating disappears inside, everything even more crowded now, at least until innkeepers put up good awnings. But no one really wants to remain outside in the cold anyway.

Someone sets up an ice-skating rink on a small, frozen pond near the middle of town – Michael and Jeremy use their day off to mess around on it, dragging Lindsay with them and laughing loudly when any one of them falls.

Ryan spends his days productively – either working with Geoff or Jack, or dabbling around in the basement, concocting all sorts of potions while the weather keeps him inside. His hands are stained purple quite a lot from whatever mysterious experiment he's doing, the one that smells like rot and decay and makes Michael's eyes water at the merest hint of the smell of it. Fortunately the colour doesn't rub off on anything else – if it did, Michael would surely be covered in the stuff.

A few dignitaries visit, although not for very long. Seldom travel during winter.

The castle relaxes without the presence of so many nobles – many away to warmer lands, others retreated into their private homes – and the royal guards are invited to dinner more frequently, sit around with their charges and their king, laugh and joke and drink the wine and make merry.

–- 

Michael begs off a few days from Matt, promises to make them up later, and manages to wrangle himself four days off in a row. He tells Ryan he won't be working for a couple of shifts, and when Ryan frowns and asks him if he's okay, reassures him that everything's fine, he just wants to spend some time with his friends before solstice.

What Michael is _actually_ doing is trying to craft the perfect birthday present for Ryan, like Ryan did for him all those months ago. He wracks his brain for a whole day, pesters Gavin for suggestions and Lindsay for help and Jeremy for ideas and Trevor for inspiration.

It comes to him in the dead of night, while he's absent-mindedly brushing a hand over his throat where Ryan last kissed him and while Gavin's snoring into his pillow a few paces away. Michael traces around his neck more deliberately, smiling to himself as the idea forms and grows in his mind.

He can't make it himself, not entirely, but he knows where to go for help.

–- 

The jeweller's shop is tucked away on a little side street in the market side of the city, an unassuming little sign simply reading _Jocale_ swinging over the old oak door.

When Michael pushes in, sliding off his hood, he's greeted with the soft warmth of torches and the welcoming smile of the merchant, beaming at him as he smiles back.

“Haven't seen you in a while,” she says, easily returning his handshake.

“Could say the same for you,” he replies. “How've you been, Mica?”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” Mica says, waving a hand in the air. “A little dull after archer life, but I like it well enough. What can I help you with?”

Michael glances over at a display case set into the wall, glittering chains and gleaming rings winking back at him in the light of the torches.

“I'd like a custom order, actually,” he says, and Mica's smile turns interested.

“What would you like?” She asks, picking up a pen and paper from a table and looking at him expectantly.

Michael details his order, using examples from the display case to demonstrate what he can't quite describe, and Mice writes it all down with a thoughtful nod and a determined slant to her eyebrows, quickly sketching out an example of the finished piece to show him what she thinks he wants.

Mica's one of the best jewellers in town – she used to be an archer, worked with Gavin up on the walls, but decided she didn't want a life of guarding and training and instead opened up this little hole in the wall to perfect her craft, and perfect it she has. She's the only one Michael would trust with an order like this.

Michael grins and approves the sketch, endlessly impressed by how easily Mica can mock something up like that. She tells him it'll be ready by tomorrow – not a very tall order, she says, it's not too complicated – and he pays upfront.

–- 

While Mica makes his order, Michael spends the next day searching for a certain stone in the ingredients section of the potionmaker's. He picks up a glittering green pebble, a dusty blue rock, experimentally presses them in his fist and takes his time choosing the perfect stone to crush. He doesn't need a particular rock for the spell he's going to do – a simple enchantment he picked up a few months ago – but he would like a nice one that'll easily grind into dust.

The potionmaker eyes him warily as he rings up his purchase, wrapping the stones in cloth and tying them up with twine before he takes the money.

“Not doing anything dangerous, are you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No, Jon,” Michael says, laughing at the skeptical look on his face as he collects his stones. “Don't worry.”

“If I see the town glowing, I'll assume it was you, Jones,” Jon warns, smiling slightly.

“If this goes right, you won't know what it is.”

–- 

Michael collects his order from Mica and sets up a makeshift potion stand in his hut while Gavin's at training, carefully laying out his ingredients and reciting the spell in his head so he doesn't mess it up.

It's nothing grand, or fancy, or even amazingly sophisticated, but when it's done Michael proudly lifts it up and turns it to the light, watching it dazzle and shine.

Now all that's left to do is wait.

And maybe bribe Lindsay into making some sweet treats Michael can give to Matt to apologise.

–- 

Geoff holds a small, but lively dinner for Ryan's birthday, merely consisting of him, Jack, Ryan, and a few other nobles of the castle. The royal guards are given complete ease and Michael sits down beside Ryan as Jeremy sits with Trevor across from them – Geoff had requested they both come, so here they are.

The conversation is cheerful and vivacious and the meal itself absolutely delicious – the wine is rich and strong and Michael notices the bottle of melonsweet brought out for Ryan. When Ryan notices it, he raises a glass to Geoff in thanks and Geoff raises his own in response.

There's a short toast from Geoff – with interjections from Jack – and plenty of hip-hip-hoorays for the prince, high spirits all around the table. Ryan takes the jabs gracefully and responds with a few of his own, playfully banters with Jeremy and Trevor and tries to steal Michael's dessert. But birthday or not, Michael's not giving up any ounce of this fucking cake.

He ends up giving maybe a few crumbs away when Ryan quickly kisses the corner of his mouth, but he's okay with that.

–- 

Afterwards, sated from the dinner and the dessert and the delirious fun of the night, Ryan drags Michael back to his room, and he talks with Edgar while Michael undoes his armour, nervously takes off his pouch and sets it carefully to the side.

Ryan sits down on the edge of his bed and encourages Michael to sit next to him, pressing soft kisses to his cheek and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him tight to his side. Michael's content with this for a while, returning kisses and curling an arm around Ryan's waist as the sunset shifts into night outside the window. Ryan breaks away to glance out of it and grins, looking excitedly back to Michael.

“Want to go up to the observatory?” He asks, eyes bright with enthusiasm. Michael laughs and kisses him again and remembers the pouch.

“In a minute,” he says, separating to grab the pouch. “I have something for you.”

“Oh, you didn't have to,” Ryan breathes. His smile turns fond as he gazes at Michael. “Thank you.”

“You haven't even seen what it is yet,” Michael says, putting a little space between them to tug open the pouch.

“I can still appreciate it,” Ryan says, dropping his arm to let Michael have a bit more movement.

Michael carefully pulls out the necklace and presents it to Ryan, nervously biting his lip as Ryan takes it, the silver chain draping over his fingers. In the middle is a small, glass rose, glittering red dust trapped inside it. Ryan peers at it on his palm and then gasps softly when it starts to glow. Michael watches at it grows to a soft, orangey-yellow glow – like fire trapped inside it.

“It's beautiful,” Ryan breathes, glancing up at Michael.

“Put it on,” Michael says quietly. Ryan gently undoes the clasp and secures it around his neck, adjusting it so the rose sits just under the hollow of his throat, still glowing. Ryan fingers it and peers down to watch it again, thumbing it curiously.

“When does it glow?” Ryan asks, marvelling at the smooth, clean lines of the rose.

“It should – It should glow when you're near the person you – love,” Michael says, almost too quietly, his cheeks heating a bit. “For whoever – whoever the wearer loves. At least, it should – I could have messed it up.”

“You enchanted it?” Ryan looks at him so intensely now, something so amazingly wondrous in his expression Michael fights the urge to look away.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I didn't – I didn't make the necklace, of course, or the charm, but I – I enchanted it. It's – your hometown tradition, about wearing the rose, I thought – I thought this was...this would be appropriate.”

“I love you,” Ryan blurts out, dropping the charm to cup Michael's cheek. “I love you, Michael.”

“So it's working so far,” Michael jokes, sucking in a breath as Ryan leans in closer. Kisses him with all the gentleness of the first time.

“It's _more_ than appropriate,” Ryan murmurs, moving his other hand down to grip Michael's. “It's a thoughtful gift.”

Michael relaxes at the reassurance and kisses back more firmly, lifting his free hand to touch the charm – still glowing, he notes with satisfaction.

“I love you, too,” he mumbles into the kiss. “Happy birthday.”

–- 

The first touches of snow fall on a quiet midnight, long after taverns have boarded up and shopkeepers have turned in for the night.

Gavin's the one who notices, pointing out the window and urgently pushing at Michael's shoulder to get his attention. Michael looks up from his sewing – they're helping Lindsay with solstice decorations for her tavern, and that's the only reason they're at the tavern at midnight, sewing flowers and ribbons and stringing up fairy lights – and smiles when he sees the snow drifting down. He nudges Trevor's elbow and Trevor pokes Lindsay and before long they've abandoned their decorating, all pressed up to a window to watch the streets turn white.

It's Lindsay's idea to go outside – and when they step out into the cold it feels almost like a wonderland, the city dark and quiet like they're the only ones awake. She pulls Michael into the icy road, laughs at his startled grumbling and looks up to catch the flakes on her tongue. Gavin slips on the road and falls flat on his ass, laughing despite the pain and brushing snow out of his hair while Trevor helps him up.

The snow is faint and powdery, melting into Lindsay's uncovered hair and Michael's unprotected shirtsleeves, coating the smooth stone beneath them and it only takes one stumble from Trevor to knock them all down like dominoes, Michael clutching desperately at someone's wrist on his way down. The sharp chill soaks through their clothes and they're all scrambling to get up, laughing boisterously as they shove each other into the small dunes starting to pile up as the snow grows heavier.

It's a silly sight, the four of them bundled up in untied cloaks and mismatched boots – all mixed up in their hurry to dress – tumbling in the snow and catching ice on their tongues, heedless of the chill it sends down their throats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I forgot to put it in for _ages_ , but I commissioned some art from [rysarts]() on Tumblr! 
> 
> It's from Chapter 4, the dinner with King Julio, and it's Ryan's outfit - go check it out [here](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com/post/164868370927/this-isextremely-late-because-i-kept-forgetting)! - and it's absolutely amazing. Go give them some appreciation!


	10. Chapter 10

Solstice is not a centralised, major festival like the Harvest or Spring Festivals. Celebrations take place in individual kingdoms and cities – some smaller villages migrate to larger kingdoms, but people mostly tend to stay home.

Decorations pop up all across the kingdom – glittering lights here, amsonia and violets there – cheerful and bright and mostly handcrafted. There are some enchanted adornments, too, floating orbs of gentle blue light and magical shooting stars flying over the ice rink. Children's paper chains fluttering in the wind above the entrance to the schools. Older children balling up snow in their palms and launching it clear across the courtyards to hit each other in the face. Michael remembers doing the same when he was young, and then when he was a little older, shoving snow down his brother's shirt to make him squeal.

Lond never quite got snow like this, though, soft and white and powdery – in winter Lond is rife with grey slush, dirty half-melted snow crawling through the gutters and dripping off rooftops. Michael is infinitely glad winter is more beautiful here.

Winter drags on, so does life.

Trevor dyes Jeremy's hair purple and a week later Jeremy shaves it off and then realises it's _fuckin' freezing, Michael, why did I even_ do _this?_ and all Michael offers is laughter. Lindsay's a little more helpful with a knitted cap.

Ryan disappears on an outing with Gavin and Meg to test out new arrow potions for the solstice celebrations and they return pink-cheeked and exhilarated, their quivers empty and their bows a tad scorched from magic. Gavin excitedly tells Michael about the fireworks they shot over drinks, his eyes lighting up while he describes his favourite ones.

Lindsay ropes Michael into helping with more decorations, and that's how he finds himself building a giant creeper snowman with Jeremy outside the tavern, splashing it with a freeze potion afterwards so it'll stay in place. They even stick enchanted torches in the legs to make it more exciting, embers coughed out in occasional bursts that melt the snow beneath them but not the snow creeper.

Jack and Ryan work to set up the winter housing for the animals, herding them into huge barns while Geoff looks on, giggling madly whenever one of his treasured sheep evades his royal shepherds. Ryan waves a gust of cold wind at him in retaliation and takes Sheeply by the collar, a little more sternly guiding him into the barn. Michael and Trevor share relieved glances – they're not on sheep duty, they're on _guard_ duty, which means standing near the torches on the barn to make sure Jack and Ryan don't land themselves in too much trouble. A cheap excuse, but an excuse nonetheless.

As solstice approaches, the castle gradually tightens up again, all the staff bustling to prepare for the annual ball Geoff holds for this holiday. The broad courtyard is decorated with white ribbons and blue flowers, tables set out and music practised, all of it decked out with impressive ornaments and grand designs. The kitchens are hot with constant cooking, more wine fertilised and cider pressed, the last of the crops harvested and farms turned over for the winter, blanketed in thick snow and useless until the spring.

The kingdom is not so peaceful with the descent of winter – it trades out the lowing and bleating of livestock for the happy shrieking of children, playing haphazardly in the streets with wooden swords and wooden horses. But with the work of the year done, it is a welcome noise, and taverns once again fill with families on nightly outings, young couples in their first winter together, the gruff hunters who don't have to venture out until the snow melts.

No, Consequor is far from peaceful, but it is a jolly and cheerful kingdom around solsticetime.

\-- 

Ryan asks Michael to accompany him to the ball with an apprehension fondly reminiscent of that time they almost kissed in the observatory. Michael smiles and curls his fingers around Ryan's and accepts with a kiss brushed over Ryan's knuckles, and the unnatural warmth of Ryan's palm is sweetly endearing. He understands Ryan's nervousness – this'll be their first formal event as, well, as a _couple_. They've had royal dinners and other such similar events, but those were relatively small and only really for a select group of people.

Consequor is not much a town for gossip, at least not the unkind sort. Michael's friends know about him and the prince, most of the castle knows, and probably a fair amount of the citizens at least _suspect_ the prince is courting, but they probably don't know _who_. Michael isn't too worried about judgment – Geoff has made it more than clear that anyone prejudiced is not welcome in the kingdom.

But this'll be their public debut, so to speak. The whole kingdom will show up to this ball, and for Michael to officially be on the prince's arm – well, it will be made plainly clear who exactly is the prince's suitor. He understands why Ryan is worried, despite the general ease of Geoff's people. After all, it is not his home kingdom, he is not their blood prince. Not that many seem to care about that – he is a good prince, helping where he can and helplessly charming while doing so. It's no wonder he's fit in so well here, loves this kingdom like it's his own. Still, he doubts, a nervous habit that manifests in sleepless nights and restless crafting.

Michael tries his best to soothe these doubts away, murmuring reassurance into Ryan's hair as Ryan lies beside him in bed, his forehead creased with worry.

“And anyway, I'll personally fight them if anyone dares say anything against us,” he mutters. Ryan laughs quietly and turns to press his lips to Michael's cheek, the pair of them buried under furs and thick cotton blankets.

“I think perhaps Geoff would beat you to it,” Ryan says.

“I'd like to see him fuckin' try,” Michael grumbles, tightening his arm around Ryan's waist. “Old man.”

Ryan laughs again and Michael falls in love all over again with the sound of it, opens his eyes to meet Ryan's in the moonlit dark. The prince gazes at him in that awed, wondrous way that usually precedes some quiet confession, something low and lovely in the scant space between them.

But this time he doesn't say anything, just reaches down to tangle his hand with Michael's. And the soft, contented smile that spreads across his face speaks more than any words could.

–- 

Michael helps Gavin prepare for the solstice ball, strapping his smart black quiver around his thigh and lacing up his short black cloak at the throat, shoving a gleaming gold brooch in to hold it all together.

“You'll do great,” he says, clapping a hand on Gavin's shoulder as Gavin smiles nervously and fiddles with his bow. This'll be his first big official event, too, as lead archer – he's been pacing since dawn, fiddling endlessly with with bow and his quiver, but Michael's presence seems to reassure him somewhat.

Meg comes by to collect Gavin and when they leave, Michael spends some time fixing himself up.

He can't take the sword Ryan made him – too big and awkward to carry at a ball, but he sheathes a slim diamond dagger in his boot anyway just in case. He attaches a rose over his heart and flicks it to make sure the stitching holds fast. Next is the matching rose, tucked firmly into the knot of the solstice-blue sash tied around his hips. He fastens a thin cloak around his shoulders, combs through his hair with his fingers and deems it good enough. It'll have to be. The clock's striking and he's not even at the castle yet.

He hastily grabs the small bunch of violets on the chest and slides the stems up his sleeve so the flowers poke out, hurrying out the door to beat the crowds to the castle.

–- 

The Solstice Ball, as always, is lavish and elegant and full of nobles and citizens alike, all milling around and chattering happily away amongst themselves with mugs of rum and cocoa held between cold hands. Within the courtyard more nobles and other members of the castle gather, but ordinary citizens are amongst the crowd, which spills out of the tall archways and outside the castle walls where the broad doors are flung open. Everyone is dressed rather formally, velvet gowns and velvet jackets, neat shirts and thicker boots, all in hues of white and solstice blue, flower crowns mostly, but not solely, on the children and flower bunches tucked behind ears and into collars.

The sharp ring of a trumpet sounds once, twice, and a hush falls over the crowd, everyone turning to face the middle as the masses part for the archers.

Gavin's at the head of one row, Meg at the other, two neat lines of archers that split the crowd in two. This time their leather is black, not brown, uncreased and smooth, and their emerald green cloth is replaced with soft blue. There are bright blue flowers tucked into their right arm vambraces, bold and beautiful against the black.

They line up either side of the makeshift aisle while Geoff appears at the end of the courtyard, adorned in a fancy cloak with sapphires glittering on the clasp. His shirt is pristine and his boots shined, although they are already smudged by the snow underfoot. He smiles graciously at everyone and gestures to the archers, silently commanding them to start the ball.

Michael bounces nervously on the balls of his feet and tries to look over the crowd for Ryan – he's not even _here_ yet, and Michael's slowly growing more and more anxious while the archers draw their bows. Michael dislikes being alone in this crowd, standing between two groups of nobles and completely out of place – he should be gathered with the other royal guards on the other side of the aisle, all standing together in a friendly cluster.

His attention is brought back to the archers as they aim straight up, bows drawn tight. There's an awed, breathless moment before they let them fly, the arrows exploding into fireworks mid-air, white streaks of lights arcing over tipped up faces and fading harmlessly into nothing. With the next burst, more colours join the fray, gentle blues and warm yellows that stir up a chorus of _ooh_ s and _aah_ s from the children, loud applause from the adults. Some restless folks try to jump and touch the light, but it disappears too high above them for any success.

It's a stunning display, nothing short of dazzling, and when the last arrows shoots up and as the archers sheath their bows again Michael catches Gavin's eye, flashes him a grin and a thumbs-up as Gavin turns to march the archers out. They'll reappear in a few moments, weaponless and quiverless, to join the celebration, but now they walk out amongst a hearty round of applause, thunderous and loud in its praise.

The crowd returns to its excited mingling, the makeshift aisle melting away as groups blend together again, enthusiastic chatter about the fireworks mixing with delighted laughter. The first notes of music start up as platters of food are set out on the large tables, from roast pork to dainty little lemon tarts. The middle of the courtyard gradually expands into a dance floor, couples sweeping through in time with the music – or not, for those bubbly with rum – gowns spinning out in all directions and cloaks swirling with them.

Michael tries to reach an edge but instead gets jostled to the edge of the dance floor. He scowls but decides to wait here for a moment, watching people twirl as he absently fiddles with the violets in his wrist. Someone sidles up to him – Mica, when he turns to look, and she sweetly asks him if he wants to dance and he shakes his head, replies that he's waiting for someone. She leaves him with a friendly pat to his shoulder and wink, disappearing to seek out another dance partner.

A hand touches his wrist and Michael whirls around, almost instinctively reaches for a sword he doesn't have before he sees Ryan. He relaxes and the prince steps closer, withdrawing his hand as he glances nervously around. The crowd around them murmur a little, most of them citizens and thus surprised at seeing the prince not at the king's side – they don't yet know of Ryan and Michael's relationship.

Ryan remains a careful distance from Michael, an appropriate two steps away that would be fine if Michael were merely an acquaintance, but Michael's so much more than that. Still, he doesn't push Ryan – the prince is clearly anxious, and the few sets of eyes drawn to him probably isn't helping.

“I was looking for you,” Michael says, smiling a little to show he's only teasing.

“Sorry,” Ryan says, briefly looking over Michael's shoulder. “I was – late.” From the stiff way he's standing, Michael can guess why he was late and immediately wishes he had been there to calm the doubts surely keeping Ryan in his room.

Ryan's eyes dart up to the rose on Michael's chest and a small smile graces his lips. With an equal satisfaction, Michael notes that Ryan's wearing the necklace Michael enchanted for his birthday.

Someone moves behind Ryan and it bumps him closer, now only inches from Michael where before it was paces. The necklace starts to glow and Michael plucks out the violets from his wrist, offering them to Ryan.

“I thought you'd like them,” he says. Ryan takes them hesitantly, carefully, twirling the delicate stems between his fingers. More eyes turn to them but Michael focuses solely on Ryan, smiling gently, hopefully reassuringly.

“Thank you,” Ryan says, still with that faint smile. He tucks the violets into his collar so the petals brush against his throat.

The music shifts into a slower step and Ryan glances over Michael's shoulder again at the dance floor. More people stare. Michael can practically see the tension bunching up in Ryan's shoulders under his cloak.

Ryan abruptly steps closer, leans down to kiss Michael on the cheek and there's a couple of soft gasps behind them before Ryan's curling an arm around Michael's shoulders and sweeping him back onto the dance floor – Michael stumbles but regains his footing swiftly enough for Ryan to get them in time with the music.

“I don't know how to dance,” Michael says with a quiet laugh. Ryan pulls him closer and Michael can _feel_ the curious eyes on them. He ignores the blush burning on his cheeks and grips Ryan's hand a little tighter, hoping to dispel its inhuman chill.

“Follow my lead,” Ryan murmurs. “One – two – three - four.”

He counts quietly while Michael figures out the steps, accidentally stomping on Ryan's toes a few times but Ryan keeps them in the swing of the crowd, shuffles around with the group so they don't get in anyone's way.

Eventually Ryan's voice drifts away and Michael doesn't need to focus quite so much on his footing, stepping forward when Ryan steps back and letting Ryan lead him around the dance floor. He catches Geoff's eye and Geoff raises a goblet of melonsweet to him, the bottle of it in his other hand – Michael's noticed lately the king has favoured that particular drink.

“You okay?” Ryan asks, still looking directly at Michael.

“Yeah,” Michael replies. Ryan's hand is cold beneath his and Michael frowns, squeezes his fingers. “What about you?”

Ryan swallows and presses his forehead to Michael's, exhaling shakily.

“It's quite – nerve-wracking, to be so public about it,” he admits. “I've never – it's strange for it to be important, who I dance with.”

“It's not terribly important,” Michael says. “Most people here already know about us.”

“True,” Ryan allows. “But what if - “

“What if nothing,” Michael says, linking their fingers together. “Relax. Enjoy yourself.”

Ryan nods and pulls away again, but he's still a little too stiff for Michael's liking, so Michael eases them out of the dancing crowd, brings them to a stop on the edge. Ryan looks quizzically down at him and Michael rests a hand on the back of his neck, leans in to press a slow, chaste kiss to his lips. Someone wolf-whistles loudly – someone who sounds an awful lot like _Lindsay_ – and Ryan's hand finally heats against Michael's, as do his cheeks.

“Now, my prince, will you escort me to the dessert? I've heard the solstice cakes here are excellent,” Michael whispers between them, foreheads still resting together. Ryan laughs and loops an arm through his, breathing a fond _I love you_ into his ear before leading him away from the ballroom floor to the tables.

Less people stare, now, and a few give congratulations, and Ryan accepts shyly but graciously and stays close to Michael all through the ball. The tiny charm on Ryan's necklace glows as bright as it can all through the night, only matched by the glittering stars.

\-- 

The days after solstice, the castle is quiet. The entire kingdom is quiet, everyone tired after the extended festivities and enjoying their rest.

Michael stays at the castle, but not in a guarding capacity. In fact, there _are_ no royal guards on duty today, nor will there be for another few sunsets, all replaced by iron golems and the walls' archers replaced with dispensers. It's peaceful. Calm. The castle's meals are simple and mostly already prepared so the workers can have leave – no one attends to the torches, no one dusts the shelves in the throne room. Geoff has no orders for his nobles, no responsibilities to assign.

Michael lazily curls up to the prince's side and smushes his cheek to Ryan's shoulder, looking up at whatever he's reading. It's that book from the library, the one with a pristine purple cover written in indecipherable, archaic runes.

“Whatcha readin'?” He asks, blinking up at the text.

“Some notes on creatures,” Ryan replies vaguely, flipping the page. Michael harrumphs into his skin and drapes his arm over Ryan's waist. He's still tired from last night – when Ryan fucked him so thoroughly into the bed his palms nearly branded Michael's thighs – but he's too restless to go back to sleep, instead drums his fingers against Ryan's hip.

“You bored?” Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow but not looking away from the runes.

“Yep.”

Ryan chuckles softly and drops a hand to rest his arm over Michael's, laying his hand over his. He snaps the book shut and puts it down on the table, turning expectantly to Michael.

“Have something else in mind?” He asks.

“Yeah. Sleep,” Michael says gruffly, ignoring Ryan's laugh to bury his face in the plush pillow.

“You know, we should probably get out of bed sometime today,” Ryan says with a wry smile. He's got a point – they've been naked for over a day now, using the food and drink in Ryan's room to sustain themselves. Michael himself hasn't left the bed save to shower and use the restroom.

“Later,” Michael says. Ryan pulls the furs up around them and slots his knee between Michael's, curling his arm around Michael's waist to plant his warm hand on his back. Michael melts into the comforting touch, sighing happily as Ryan entangles them more.

–- 

They get out of bed, eventually – wander down to the kitchens to scrounge up some warm dinner and Ryan packs it all up in a satchel before Michael can have any of it. Michael glares at him and Ryan just kisses him innocently on the cheek, leading Michael back up the stairs.

Ryan steps out of his window as the sun starts to dip, holding out a hand to Michael to guide him up the invisible steps. They reach Geoff's roof just as sunset begins, Michael shivering slightly under his thick cloak and boots.

“It's cold,” he mutters as Ryan sets down a plush blanket, tugs Michael down on it with him.

“Oh no, I suppose I'll have to warm you up,” Ryan replies dryly, urging Michael into the bracket of his legs, back-to-chest. Michael rolls his eyes but leans into Ryan's embrace anyway, the dinner forgotten for now as Ryan's chin hooks over his shoulder.

“We haven't done this nearly enough,” Ryan says, hugging Michael tight around the chest. Michael pulls the edges of both their cloaks around to preserve some of the heat.

“What, frozen to death? No, can't say I have done much of that.”

“The sunset,” Ryan says with a laugh, his grin pressed into Michael's jaw. “I have heating potions if you wish for one.”

“Hm, not yet.”

They watch the sunset like that, Ryan's hands warming Michael's skin and their breath puffing out in bursts of wispy white as the sky blooms pink and orange. It is rather a pleasant sight, something Michael has always liked watching and Ryan's right, they don't do this nearly enough. The clouds keep their apricot tinges much longer than the sky, which melts into a soft blue that darkens with every passing minute.

Ryan tips Michael's head up with his chin and they watch the stars appears, little pinpoints of light sprinkled over the sky in constellations.

“In my land, that one is called the Regina Nix,” Ryan says, pointing at a cluster of stars to their left. “Snow Queen.”

“I never learnt about the stars,” Michael murmurs.

“Or it is what remains of her,” Ryan continues, his cheek pressed against Michael's. “Those few there, to the left - “ he points again and Michael nods “ - that is her hair. Legend says she used to have a face, but that's long faded by now.” There's only a few specks where a face would be, and Michael nods again. “And over there is her sword.” Ryan indicates four stars all lined up and Michael 'hm's in acknowledgment.

“What's her story?” Michael asks.

“It is said she chased the wolves from the western kingdoms,” Ryan says. “She fought them out of her kingdom, first, and gathered up a makeshift army to force them away from the others. There are some statues in the west of her.”

“How long ago?”

“Oh, decades. Perhaps a century. But had it not been for her, our territory would have been overrun by the hordes. My village would never have existed.”

Michael frowns. There has never been too much of a problem with wild wolves in Consequor – they usually don't mess with humans if left alone.

“Are there many wolves in the west?” He asks.

“Mostly in the plains,” Ryan answers. “The Queen and her army beat down enough of their numbers that they daren't attack again.”

“You talk as if they are human.”

Ryan pulls away to shoot him a puzzled look. “Are they not?”

“What – no, Ryan, they're _wolves_. How could they possibly be human?”

It's Ryan's turn to frown, and he looks out again at the stars.

“Did they never teach you about the Western War?”

“No,” Michael says, twisting in Ryan's arms to see him.

“Hm.”

“What about it, Ryan?”

Ryan meets his eyes and shrugs.

“The defeated – and rightfully so, they were awful people – were transformed into wolves by the victors, and now they roam as packs of vicious beasts. I guess they never migrated here.”

“Oh. Huh.” Michael sits back and thinks about the white wolves outside the kingdom. “What do they look like?”

“Huge hulking creatures,” Ryan says. “Their fur grey as iron and their blood as red as roses.”

“That's awfully poetic,” Michael teases. Ryan chuckles.

“The War was centuries ago,” he says. “But the history books are terribly romantic about it sometimes.”

“I never knew there _was_ a war in the west,” Michael says.

“No matter,” Ryan replies, squeezing his arms around Michael. “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” Michael admits, thumbing his nose to find it numb. Ryan kisses his cheek and pulls away to rifle through his satchel – the cold breeze rushes between them and Michael shivers just as Ryan hands him a couple of heating potions. Michael uncorks one and drinks it, sighing at the relief of warmth radiating all through him. It spreads out to his fingers and toes, tingling and strange but welcomed in the sharp chill.

Ryan's arms reappear around him, this time his hands laden with their dinner. He urges Michael to cross his legs and unwraps the paper on his lap, humming some soft tune while Michael picks up a joint of meat. The prince goes for the bread first, munching quietly beside Michael's ear.

They eat in relative silence, clinking flasks of warm cocoa together before drinking them, trading morsels of fluffy bread for bites of meat. The heating potion works spectacularly well, and if it wasn't for the slight icy wind, Michael would forget it was winter at all.

Michael balls up the messy paper afterwards, shoving it back in the pouch it came from and wiping his oily fingers on the cloth napkins Ryan thankfully had the foresight to bring. While he finishes off his cocoa Ryan brings out a smaller package, magically untying the string knotted around it with an easy flick of his fingers. Michael peers down, confused, while Ryan unfolds the paper, revealing a few squares of cake.

“And what is this delicacy?” Michael muses, turning to Ryan.

“Rum raspberry,” Ryan replies, and Michael's breath catches in his throat. “It is – I learnt it is a popular treat in Lond. I – do you...like it?”

“ _Yes_ _,_ ” Michael breathes, looking back down at the dark cake. “It's one of my favourites from Lond.”

Ryan sighs in relief and Michael pokes curiously at the cake – god, it's even got the right _texture_ , soft and spongy. He's never seen it here in Consequor, _and_ it's a difficult recipe to master.

“Wherever did you get it?” Michael asks, picking up a square.

“Your, uh - “ Ryan presses his mouth nervously to Michael's neck and his hands twitch on Michael's thighs. “A few days before solstice, I – you said your parents owned a bakery in town.”

“You went to my parent's bakery?”

“Well, I – I didn't know where it was. I had help.”

“You met my parents without me?” Michael jokes.

“I...suppose, yes. Do they know about us?”

Michael sighs and nudges his cheek against Ryan's.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Is it – a problem?” Ryan whispers, and Michael shakes his head.

“No, no, they know of my preferences,” he says. “But the minute I tell my mother I'm in a courtship is the same minute she probably disinherit me.”

“What?”

Michael laughs and sets the cake down to kiss Ryan's jaw.

“Not seriously,” he says. “My parents just tend to like my suitors more than me.”

“I'm sure that's not true.”

“You haven't met my parents.”

“I have,” Ryan corrects, tapping him playfully on the nose. “ _And_ I even traded recipes with your mother.”

“ _What_?”

“In partial exchange for this,” Ryan says, gesturing to the cake. “Along with the coin.”

“What did you tell her?” Michael asks, narrowing his eyes.

“There are these exquisite peach tarts my father used to make when I was younger,” Ryan says. He rubs his scruff against Michael's jaw. “I do quite miss them. I don't have a baker's talent, but I _do_ know the recipe.”

“Huh. So my mother made this?” He glances down at the cake and picks up a square again, sniffing the sweetly tangy mix of rum and raspberry.

“I thought you would like it,” Ryan replies quietly. “A taste of home, so to speak.”

Michael huffs out a laugh at the line and takes a bite – and then a few more because _gods_ it's just as good as back home. Well, he supposes, it was made by _his own mother_ , but he had forgotten just how amazing she was with cakes.

“Don't choke,” Ryan teases, and Michael moans exaggeratedly as he stuffs the rest of it into his mouth. Ryan laughs and also picks up a square – a smaller piece, taking a much cleaner bite than Michael. He wrinkles his nose a little.

“I am not overly fond of the rum,” he admits, and Michael swallows down his thick mouthful to speak.

“More for me, then,” he says, and picks up more. “Is such a gift for any special occasion?”

Ryan looks at him and shakes his head, smiling gently.

“Simply for the occasion of loving you,” he replies. Michael's cheeks heat and Ryan kisses him sweetly.

“Careful, I might faint at such romance.”

Ryan laughs and tucks his nose behind Michael's ear, leaving the rest of the cake to him as he embraces him once more.

\-- 

A week after solstice, the year flips over and the winter turns dreary. It only takes another week or two for the rain to replace the snow and wash all evidence of it away. The freeze potion fades away on the creeper outside Lindsay's tavern and it, too, melts into gloomy slush.

Even now the rain pounds relentlessly against the stone of the castle, beating down ceaselessly against the glass in the window as torches burn low and clouds obscure the moonlight. It fades into the background for Michael, a constant drumming noise that's drowned out by Ryan's next deep groan and the accompanying shove of his hips.

Michael pants into the soft, _heavenly_ furs beneath him as Ryan fucks him into next godsdamn _week_ , his grip like iron on Michael's hips and his thighs sticking to Michael's with a thin layer of sweat, leaving with a quiet smack every time he rocks in. Even the winter chill can't combat the perspiration on Michael's back, Ryan's fingers slipping slightly when he tugs Michael up more onto his knees. Michael moans loudly and turns to muffle himself into the furs, his noise pushed out of him with every quick thrust.

He's on his knees, used to be on his hands but his arms went weak about ten minutes ago and now he can only grasp uselessly at the sheets, gasping out a mantra of Ryan's name while the prince fucking _ruins_ him. He'd spent so _long_ teasing Michael with his fingers, his mouth, laying little bites over his neck and almost pushing him to the begging point but thankfully he flipped him over before Michael could start to whine.

Ryan shoves roughly at Michael's hips to force them down more and the change in angle makes Michael cry out and lock up all over, Ryan's cock rubbing against his sweet spot on every slide in. The prince is rougher than usual tonight, almost cruelly raking his nails over Michael's thighs to keep him in place and it only makes Michael harder, his dick twitching uselessly in the air beneath him.

Okay, so he _may_ have deliberately pushed a few buttons a bit too far. But _gods_ , it certainly satisfies the craving itching up Michael's spine for _days_ now, restless with the gloomy weather and the lack of hunting parties.

And he's never had someone who can take him so thoroughly apart like _Ryan_ , get him strung out and desperate within minutes, and as if he can sense Michael's focus going hazy, Ryan pinches his hip and yanks him down the bed a couple of inches. It startles a sharp moan out of Michael and his spine arches under Ryan's actions.

He's just tensing himself up to maybe come untouched when Ryan slows, and Michael's on the cusp of complaining when two fingers press in next to Ryan's cock and _keep sliding in oh gods_. It stretches him in an unusual way he's not used to and he whimpers, closing his eyes as Ryan starts to speed up again, fucking his fingers in in time when Michael eagerly pushes back against them.

“Gods, _Michael_ ,” he groans, his voice curling into a growl when Michael clenches around him. Michael shudders at the sound and he breaks on the next hard thrust, babbling into the furs.

“Please, Ryan, please – gotta – _Ry_ – oh gods oh shit – _oh fuck_ – Ry, please, _please_ \- “ and Ryan chuckles darkly, slips his other hand around to brush his fingers teasingly up the length of Michael's dick.

“ _Ryan_ ,” Michael spits, bucking between Ryan's cock and his maddening touch and Ryan only bends over to kiss at his spine, panting against his shoulder blade. The jar of oil slides off the bed and thuds loudly to the floor – Michael couldn't care less, just arches and groans and tries not to drool into the furs.

Ryan slips his fingers out and slides them back in, flipped, under his dick this time, to press his fingertips firmly against Michael's sweet spot and rub hard over it. Michael's moan breaks into a sob and he starts shaking uncontrollably, overcome with the sensation but not enough stimulation to actually come and Ryan only huffs out a laugh, leaning up to trail his lips over the sweaty crook of Michael's neck.

“Ryan, _please_ ,” he begs, his voice cracking pathetically in the middle.

“Mm, Michael,” Ryan hums, and _finally_ takes mercy on him, wrapping his hot fingers around Michael's cock.

His hands are really too warm to be on Michael's dick, too hot against sensitive skin, but it hardly matters because not a handful of strokes later Michael moans loudly into the furs and comes all over them. He glances down to see it spatter over the pelt and has to close his eyes again at the wave of sensation that crashes over him, Ryan's fingers suddenly too much in too many places. He whines and rasps out a croaky _fuck_ as he tenses painfully, his nerves completely overloaded.

Ryan pulls his hand away, slides his fingers out, and returns them to Michael's hips as he straightens again, holding Michael steady while he fucks into him. Michael makes no protest, perfectly happy for the prince to use him like this when he's oversensitive and trembling, sharp pinpricks of pleasure shocking all through him.

Ryan comes with a low, throaty moan and a harsh snap of his hips, hot inside Michael and some of it leaking out when he gives another slow thrust. His grip on Michael's body loosens and he rocks in a few times more, panting shallowly before pulling out. Michael goes boneless the moment Ryan releases him, slumping into the furs and his legs still propped up on weak knees.

A thumb drags up his inner thigh and pushes the mess back into him – Michael shivers and Ryan rises up on his knees again, presses the head of his cock against Michael's hole and Michael can feel him stroking himself, cursing under his breath as a few more drops spurt out into Michael.

It's absolutely, _completely_ filthy and Michael blushes bright even as Ryan pulls away for good, easing Michael down to lie on his front. He buries his face into the furs and ignores the fact he's lying in his own mess.

Ryan strokes a dry hand down his back and disappears off the bed to pad into the restroom, by the sound of it. Michael doesn't really care but he does jolt when a damp rag sweeps down his spine to his ass, gently swiping over the mess of oil and come seeping sluggishly out of him. Again he flushes and Ryan discards the rag before straddling him from behind, knees pressed to Michael's thighs as he leans down to kiss lightly over Michael's neck. Michael makes a gruff, pleased noise and tilts his head to give Ryan more room.

“Was that what you wanted?” He murmurs into Michael's ear, his hands shifting on the furs either side of Michael's shoulders. Michael nods.

“Why aren't you down here?” He mumbles, his words a little slurred from exhaustion. Ryan huffs out a laugh and noses over the back of his neck.

“I know you,” he says. “The moment I lay down you'll be getting up to shower.”

Michael stays silent and hates that Ryan's right.

“Instead,” Ryan says, dropping a kiss to Michael's nape. “How about you let me take care of you?”

“You're always doing that,” Michael protests, but sighs happily anyway at the next soft press of Ryan's lips.

“I quite like doing it,” Ryan counters, sinking onto his elbows to press more of them together. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Michael says. “Gods, no, you didn't.” He wants to roll over and pull Ryan into his arms, reassure him he did nothing Michael didn't want. Ryan always gets concerned after he roughs Michael up a bit – it's a sweet concern, would be stifling from anyone else, but from Ryan it's sincere and affectionate. Ryan hums into the curve of his neck and Michael turns his head to offer his mouth – Ryan leans down to meet him despite the oddity of the angle. His necklace drags against Michael's chin, glowing strong between them.

“If we lay here any longer the furs'll stain,” Michael murmurs, smiling at the breathless laugh puffed out over his cheek.

“You did make quite the mess,” Ryan muses, butting his nose against Michael's cheek. There's a proud glint in his eye.

“Hm, yes, I wonder why,” Michael drawls, and Ryan laughs again.

“The mystery of the decade.”

“Truly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I need a filler scene  
> Me: Better put some smut in there


	11. Chapter 11

On one stormy, dark night, when thunder crashes and lightning splits the sky and clouds hang heavy over the land, when the forest ripples with harsh wind and mighty gales, gleeful laughter erupts from the basement, a little sinister with the foul purple smoke rolling out from under the door and stinging Michael's eyes and nose.

Michael inches away from the door and presses the scent potion closer to his nose, inhaling deeply as more smoke puffs out, followed by Ryan's cheerful laughter. Thunder booms loudly outside the castle, surely chased by lightning, and briefly Michael wonders if Ryan's decided to embrace the mad sorcerer moniker Geoff often attributes to him.

The door bangs open and Ryan emerges with his hands and forearms stained purple, his hair a mess where he's been running his hand through it and his grin wide. The look in his eyes seems a little crazed, his grin a touch manic, but when he steps into the light of the torches he just looks exhilarated. Michael looks him up and down, furrows his brows in question.

“It worked!” Ryan exclaims, sweeping Michael up in a sudden hug. Michael stiffens and laughs into Ryan's shoulder, patting him on the back.

“What worked?” He asks. Ryan pulls back and grins mischievously at him.

“You're not busy for the next week, are you?” He asks, rather cryptically, and Michael narrows his eyes.

“No,” he answers slowly, and Ryan claps him on the shoulder.

“Good,” he says simply, glancing to his side and nodding – at Edgar, Michael realises, unless Ryan's gone properly mad.

“Yeah, it should,” Ryan says to Edgar, and he leaves Michael with another pat on his armoured shoulder, disappearing with a wink back into the basement.

\-- 

The next day Michael arrives at the castle walls early in the morning, the sky cleared up from last night's thunderstorm, with a packed bag in hand as per Matt's instructions given to him through a note left on his clothing chest. He's in travelling armour – a lighter iron kit with some diamond pieces in important places – and with all the travelling accessories detailed in the note, from the axe and the pickaxe to the iron-tipped arrows and the flask of endless water. He's not quite sure what sort of adventure would call for all of this – they usually go out on hunting trips for mob ingredients or because the newest wave of skeletons arose and Ryan was assigned to beat them back.

Michael follows the torchlight to the barn where the horses are kept in winter, the door ajar and a warm yellow glow emanating from inside. He can hear faint voices, getting louder as he approaches, and he nudges the door open with his foot to walk in.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees who's inside.

Gavin's giggling as Jeremy tries to balance an apple on his head – beside them is Trevor, leaning against the flank of a horse and goading him on – and then there's Ryan, a potion bag next to his feet where he's perched on the edge of a trough. They're all outfitted similarly to Michael – travelling armour with axes and pickaxes attached to their hips.

“Michael!” Ryan says when he sees him, waving him in.

“What – is going on?” Michael asks, setting his bag down next to the pile of others and watching the apple rolls off of Jeremy's head.

“Michael boi!” Gavin exclaims – Jeremy catches the apple and whirls around to face him, grinning wide. “Thought you'd never come!”

“I was told dawn,” Michael says, lifting his eyes to Ryan.

“Unfair, I had to be here earlier,” Trevor pouts.

“Can't help that you're the favourite,” Jeremy counters.

“I'd think the favourite would be the one who was allowed to sleep,” Trevor scoffs. He pushes himself up to standing and pats the horse before going over to snatch the apple from Jeremy. Ryan hefts his bag over his shoulder and walks over to Michael.

“You ready to go?” He asks.

“Didn't realise you were bringing entertainment,” Michael teases – Gavin yelps in protest and Trevor tosses a bag to him. Ryan smiles wryly and glances over at the others.

“Can't very well go gallivanting off for a week by myself now, could I? Would get awfully boring,” he says.

“Fair,” Michael agrees, leaning down to pick up his bag and hike it up over his shoulder. “How many horses are we taking?”

“Horses?” Ryan smiles cryptically and turns on a heel to face the door. “Where we're going, we don't need horses,” he says, and they all share a puzzled look before following him out of the barn.

\-- 

The first few hours of their mysterious journey is quiet, everyone tired and not in the mood for walking and talking at the same time. They immediately tramped into the forest, but thankfully the sky is clear and blue, and the sun dries the dew drops on the trees, the drenched bark.

They come across a few fallen trees, snapped open by lightning or roots torn out of the ground by wind, and their branches creak ominously as their little group passes, Ryan in the front and Michael and Trevor bringing up the rear. The land is vibrantly green with all the recent rain, the grass lush and dewy and the rivers swollen, overflowing onto muddy banks and mossy rocks. No one knows where they're going but none dare to question the prince just yet – Ryan himself seems cheerful enough, humming quietly and calmly warning them about slippery rocks and treacherous branches.

While they're trampling down a trading path, the sun high and bright above them, idle conversation warming up between them - “D'you think you could climb that tree over there?” “The split one?” “Yeah.” “No! It's about to break!” “Well, _yeah_ , but if it wasn't?” “What does that even _mean_ , Gavin?” “Yeah, what are you talkin' about?” - Ryan pulls them over for a stop, and they all gather in a little circle by the side of the path.

“Are you all actually awake now?” Ryan asks, opening the bag attached to his hip. They all chime in with varying degrees of enthusiasm and Ryan laughs, procures a map and holds it out in front of them.

“Okay, well, we're trying to get here,” he says, pointing to an X drawn on the map.

“Where are we?” Gavin asks, tilting his head to try and orient. Ryan helpfully turns the map to help him and touches the corner – a single, curving line lights up a light blue, arcing through the woods and stopping near a drawn path.

“That's the path of this map,” Ryan says. “So as long as we keep it on us, it's our path.”

“We're miles away!” Gavin exclaims, leaning in to peer at the line. “It'll take ages!”

“Isn't that the Black Forest?” Trevor asks, and when Michael leans in closer to look, he does indeed see that the X is smack in the middle of a darker patch. The Black Forest.

“Why does that sound bad?” Jeremy asks slowly, looking around at them.

“It's a haunted place,” Trevor says, tracing the outline of the Black Forest with his finger. “There are fell things in that forest.”

“It's marked with evil,” Gavin murmurs.

Michael knows about the Black Forest – never been, but he's heard the same tales they all have. Its accursed soil, the unnerving bend of rotten trees, somehow still standing although wrenched into unnatural shapes. The foul air that permeates all through it, roots that appear out of nowhere to trip up unwary travellers. It is said the whole place is drenched in dark magic, oozing out like sap from dead tree trunks. Some say the fog itself is lethal, can catch fire at a moment's notice simply from the change of the wind.

To their surprise, Ryan just laughs and shakes his head, chuckling as he rotates the map again.

“Haunted by no more than ghost stories,” he says, and all their heads snap up to look at him.

“Have you been?” Jeremy asks, and Ryan shakes his head again. Michael's about to ask how the fuck he knows that, then, when Ryan glances up to his left and nods and -

“ _He's_ here?!” Michael exclaims – now all their heads whip to him and Ryan shrugs. “Why didn't you tell us?!”

Ryan glances up again and Trevor nudges Michael with his elbow.

“Unimportant,” Ryan says, and hands the map to Gavin. “Would you like to navigate?”

“Yeah!” Gavin chirps, seemingly ignoring Michael's outburst and taking the map.

“Don't lose it, remember,” Ryan warns.

“Oh, he'll lose it,” Jeremy says, and as Ryan turns to lead them back to the path he and Gavin break into friendly argument. Michael watches Ryan nod at Edgar again.

They set off again, Gavin finally figuring out which way is north on the map, and, almost as an afterthought, Ryan tosses a flask behind him – Trevor jumps and it shatters against the packed dirt, purple smoke billowing up to reveal Edgar, who shoots Ryan a glare the same time Gavin shrieks.

“ _What_ are you!” He yelps, and Edgar rolls his eyes at Ryan's smug grin.

“I'm a fucking ghost, you dipshit,” he snaps, but his sudden surliness doesn't deter Gavin, who darts forward to poke curiously at him – Jeremy pulls him back with a hand on his collar and sighs.

“Don't go sticking your hands in people, Gavin!” Trevor hollers. Michael waves at Edgar and Gavin spins to look at them all while walking backwards, gesturing furiously to Edgar.

“Did you all know about him?!” He asks, and they all nod.

“Well yeah, of course,” Jeremy replies. “He's usually in the castle.”

“What, and _none_ of you told me you knew a bleedin' _ghost_?!”

“Uh, no?” Michael says, shrugging at he looks around at the other guards. “I guess it never really came up.”

“ _Never came up_?!” Gavin shrieks, and then screams when Edgar floats forward to brush a hand through him – Edgar laughs and then Gavin starts spitting all sorts of questions, his annoyance melting into bubbly curiosity. Michael rolls his eyes and moments later the conversation explodes into lively chatter, all of them chipping in to mock and answer Gavin's questions – some inane, some serious – and after a while they start to forget about the long trip ahead of them.

\-- 

They camp for the night in an old cave Gavin pointed out and Ryan agreed to with a shrug. And when asked _is this even safe?_ by Jeremy, had shrugged again and replied with a noncommittal _eh_.

So, in short, they're fucked.

Jeremy helps Michael hide the cave entrance with small boulders while Ryan starts a fire and Trevor clears a sleeping space and Gavin peers nervously into the depths of the cave.

“Sorry, we don't have any cots because they were too heavy to carry,” Ryan says when they all settle around the fire. “If we had horses, yeah, but - “ he shrugs and enchants the fire a little bigger.

“Well why don't we have horses?” Jeremy asks.

“They're spooked by the Black Forest,” Michael replies in instinct, and then freezes. Oh, _that's_ why they couldn't bring horses.

“Couldn't we just tie them up outside it?” Jeremy asks. Ryan hesitates and clears his throat awkwardly, glancing up again at Edgar.

“Not with what we're doing in there,” he says slowly. “They wouldn't like what I bring out.”

“Well,” Trevor says, clapping his hands together, “this all sounds ominous. Who brought dinner?”

Michael laughs and Gavin shoots nervous glances behind him at the black depths of the cave as Jeremy hands out wrapped meals and flasks.

“Are you sure we're safe here, si - Ryan?” Gavin asks, worry thick in his voice. Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder and points to the section of cave wall at the border of the black as the rest of them dig into their dinner, the rustle of paper and hiss of uncorking filling the space around them.

“You see those marks, there?” He asks. Gavin nods and Ryan nods, too, gesturing to the ring of runes carved into the cave and across the ceiling. “I scratched them in earlier – you saw me, remember? They're not the strongest but they're glamour runes, so as long as we keep relatively quiet and unobtrusive, nothing should come poking around.” He pats Gavin's shoulder and smiles at him. “I'll teach you a few tomorrow.”

“Are we taking watch?” Jeremy asks through a mouthful of bread – Trevor thumps him on the back and Jeremy nearly coughs it out, glaring at Trevor with watering eyes.

“It would be wise,” Ryan says. “I'll take first.”

“I'll take second,” Jeremy offers, and Ryan nods. He leans over and plucks the rolled-up map from Gavin's belt to study it, flipping it over to the blank side and touching his fingertips to the paper. Glowing blue dots pop up across it – the stars, Michael realises, some constellations linking together and shining brightly.

“Is that what's above us?” Jeremy asks, leaning over to watch as Ryan traces over a few more constellations, drawing them in with his finger.

“Yeah,” Ryan says absently, focused intently on his work as he drags the stars over, almost scrolling through the sky, dots disappearing on one side and appearing on the other. “There should be a constellation here,” he mutters, connecting a few more stars and wiping that away with a displeased frown.

While Ryan fiddles with the map, the rest of them talk – Trevor tells ghost stories about the Black Forest to scare Jeremy and Gavin laughs along until Michael launches a bite of bread at him. It hits him square on the nose and Gavin yelps, clutching his chest and glaring at Michael before tossing the bread back.

“Hey Gavin, you eating the rest of that?” Trevor asks, pointing to the half piece of bread sitting on Gavin's paper. Gavin gives up his glaring to scoop it up and stuff it unattractively into his mouth, choking on his laughter when Trevor rolls his eyes, and just like that they're back into random conversation.

The night sets in deep around around them while they figure out sleeping arrangements, moonlight creeping in between the boulders as they finally settle to sleep. Ryan enchants the fire and keeps it burning low but hot, warming up the little space around them enough that they don't need any of the heating potions. Armour gets dumped in small piles and Michael bundles up one of his extra shirts to use as a pillow.

Michael idly watches Ryan take up a post towards the entrance of the cave, sitting down on the ground and leaning against the hard rock as he pulls out the map again. The occasional groaning of a zombie or the _thwick_ of skeleton arrows breaks through the relative silence, but Ryan doesn't seem concerned, so Michael rolls over to face the dark wall and closes his eyes.

Gavin snores. Someone kicks him.

\-- 

Michael wakes up to someone shaking him slightly – it's Trevor, he realises, gently shaking him awake and letting go when Michael's eyes open, smiling at him.

“It's nice outside,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Michael grunts in acknowledgement and Trevor leaves his side.

Michael stumbles through his morning routine of getting dressed and armoured with Gavin and Trevor – Ryan's already awake and ready, talking animatedly with Jeremy when Michael ventures outside. He doesn't know what they're discussing but he does know that if Ryan's that excited it probably isn't a safe thing – Jeremy's laughing along, gesturing wildly as he explains something.

Ryan turns to them when they all emerge from the cave, the fire snuffed and all their supplies bundled up again into their satchels. Gavin goes to rest an arm on Jeremy and Jeremy just rolls his eyes but doesn't move him.

“You all good to go?” Ryan asks. “We're gonna have to have breakfast on the road, otherwise we'll never make good time.”

“A restroom break would be nice,” Trevor yawns, and Gavin nods in agreement.

“Sure, yeah,” Ryan says, and glances around them. “Although we should probably get a little farther on first. Y'know, wolves and all that.”

“Wolves?” Jeremy asks incredulously – Ryan shrugs and moves past him to start towards the road again.

“Yeah,” Ryan replies, unhelpfully. “I mean, we did kind of stop in their territory.” He gestures to a tree as they pass and they all look up to see the side of is gouged with fresh claw marks – must have been from last night.

“We were sleeping in _wolf territory_?!” Gavin shrieks. “Ryan, they could have _killed_ us!”

“But they didn't,” Ryan offers, shading his eyes when he steps back onto the road. “Anyway, dire wolves aren't the worst ones out there.”

“Dire wolves?!” Michael shouts, and the group explodes into belated alarm, from accusations of _Ryan, you're trying to kill us!_ – from Gavin – to the rightful panic of _I took a piss in dire wolf territory?!_ – from Jeremy.

Ryan just laughs and brushes it off, handing the map back to Gavin.

\-- 

“What do you think estate goes for in this area?” Gavin asks.

“Zero,” Michael says.

“I feel like you'd have to sell your soul or something,” Jeremy says. “Or a dragon pelt.”

“Are souls equivalent to pelts, now?” Trevor asks.

Michael glances down at the dirt, a sharp divide between the lush grass he's standing on and the dry, cracked soil of the Black Forest.

It looms ahead of them, all of them lined up in front of it and no one quite brave enough to step in yet. Gavin thinks it'll immediately teleport you to the Nether. Jeremy doesn't trust anything after that dire wolves stunt. Trevor claims he's too young to be sacrificed by whatever evil lurks in there, and Michael doesn't want to somehow fuck it up.

There's no wind in the Black Forest. There's a breeze blowing past their heads but when Michael extends a hand into the forest air, there's nothing.

The trees are black and rotten, curled over themselves and creaking despite the lack of wind. If Michael squints, he think he can see a flash of purple between the branches of the one nearest to them.

The Forest is not a cluster of gnarled, broken trees – in fact, they are neatly lined up, about a metre of space around each trunk base, and it's the oddly clear depths of the forest that spook them. No fog, no smoke. Michael can see until the earth bends.

Ryan’s boots crunch on the black soil and their heads whip over to watch him step in – Ryan pauses, hikes his bag up on his shoulder, and glances back at them.

“Well, come on,” he says. “We’ll lose daylight.”

“We’ll lose our heads,” Gavin mutters.

“No you won’t,” Ryan says with a laugh, spinning on his heel to walk in. There’s a moment of hesitation between the others until Trevor shoves Jeremy forward and that propels the rest of them into movement, even Gavin.

Jeremy glares at Trevor and Michael unsheathes his sword as they approach the trees, looming and ominous above them. Gavin, skittish and nervous, grabs at Michael’s arm.

Ryan glances at them again, then at the forest, and steps into the treeline and – _disappears_ , vanished, nothing but air in front of them and something harsh wrenches at Michael’s heart as they scramble to – _something_.

Something _cold_ appears at their backs – _there’s no wind in the Black Forest_ – but when Michael turns there’s nothing, but the trees still creak and there’s still no sign of Ryan among them and briefly Michael wonders if Gavin was right, if it _is_ a giant portal.

The cold pushes at them again, more insistently, and Michael stumbles forward a few steps, almost into the treeline and -

“We gotta try, right?” He says, and grabs Jeremy’s wrist before stepping among the trees.

The moment they cross, the world goes pitch black, fog brushing along their exposed skin and smoke drifting into their noses – Jeremy coughs and they glance back to see – to see Gavin and Trevor, except they’re stock-still and wide-eyed, no acknowledgement when Michael waves at them.

“We’re okay!” Jeremy calls, but again, no response.

“They can’t hear you,” someone says – Michael whirls around to see Ryan, a blue orb hovering just over the map he’s holding. It pierces nothing but the inches of dark over the paper.

In a rush of desperation, Michael reaches out through the veil again – Gavin _screams_ but Michael just claws at Trevor’s shirt and hauls him in; Trevor snatches Gavin on his way and they both tumble into the Forest. Michael can’t see them in the dark but he can feel the rabbit-quick thump-thump of Trevor’s heart under his clothes, hear Gavin’s panicked, heavy panting.

“What the _bloody_ hell?!” Gavin exclaims, gulping in huge breaths. “Was _that_?!”

“I’d keep your voice down if I were you,” Ryan says. He pulls out a few flasks of light from his bag and uncorks them – small orbs drift to each of them, hovering close to their hearts and illuminating nothing more than a few inches around themselves. Something cracks and booms in the distance.

“We’re going to die here,” Jeremy whispers.

“No we’re not,” Ryan replies calmly, folding his map over to hold it in one hand. “Just follow me.”

“How dangerous is this?” Gavin asks as they begin following Ryan.

“Definitely dangerous,” Trevor says.

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Ryan scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. He pauses. “Although I would recommend not straying off the path.”

Michael and Jeremy share a look.

“And mind your head,” Ryan says.

\-- 

The Black Forest offers nothing but ominous howling and the clack of unseen skeletons – Ryan winds them around in what feels like circles, each soft thud of his footsteps echoing from ten different places. The oppressive, heavy dark seems to _seep_ into them, as thick and cloying as the sulphurous fog rolling through.

Michael swears he catches a few pairs of red, glowing eyes watching them from the trees, but the Forest is tricky and impossible like that. Many a good man has lost his mind in the Forest, the tales say, and Michael can understand why.

There’s no chatter between them for once, save for the odd, low _watch out_ or _low branch_ as they guide each other, Ryan to Jeremy to Michael to Gavin to Trevor. Their bags rustle too loudly in the silence. Michael has no idea what time it is – looking upwards he finds only more _black_ , deep and endless and stretched so far over he cannot tell where the branches end and it begins.

A creeper explodes in the distance and half of them jump at the sound – Ryan chuckles quietly and gently pulls Jeremy back into line. Another bout of howling raises the hair on the backs of their necks.

Eventually they emerge into a small clearing – Ryan sends his orb a little bigger, a little brighter, to banish the shadows clinging to the crumbling ruins of the Nether portal stood in the middle. The grass is thick with dew, soaking into the seams of their boots and squishing underneath their heels. Ryan folds his map away and withdraws a few flasks from the pouch at his hip, turning to Gavin with an expectant eyebrow.

“You remember those protections I taught you earlier?” He asks. Gavin nods hesitantly and Ryan pushes the flasks into his hands, smiling reassuringly when Gavin’s lips twitch up.

“A few drops should do,” Ryan says. “Just around the clearing. We shouldn’t be here long.”

Gavin nods and Ryan’s hands fall away to draw out a few more potions before turning to the rest of them.

“You, uh, might not want to watch,” he says, glancing back at the portal. He tosses a splash potion at the base of it and it smashes against the obsidian, smoke curling up and fading as the cracks in the stone glow red, eerie in the darkness. He drops another by his side and smoke plumes up to reveal Edgar, arms crossed and eyes darting over the darkness crowding around them, pushing at the boundaries of the orb’s light.

“What exactly are you doing here?” Michael asks, watching as Gavin starts splashing potion at intervals around the clearing, his lips moving with some low, muttered spell. Ryan shrugs and deliberately avoids his gaze, instead pawing through his bag for another set of flasks.

“Really, you don’t wanna watch,” Edgar says.

“Ryan?”

“If this goes right,” Ryan says, and hesitates, weighing a flask in his palm. “Then hopefully you’ll know soon enough.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Jeremy asks. Ryan glances at Gavin and then back at the portal.

“Let’s just say we might have to make a quick getaway.”


	12. Chapter 12

Michael and the other guards had spread out in a ring around the clearing, backs to Ryan and hands on their weapons, glaring at every noise of the forest, at every howl and every shuffling groan that echoes through the ominous trees.

They’ve only been there for half an hour, but it feels like years, the overbearing darkness of the forest weighing down on them, thick and unshakable. Behind him, Michael can hear Ryan’s low spell murmuring, interrupted by the crackle and pop of ritual fire and the eerie groans of the woods.

Michael glances over at Gavin, who’s still pale-faced and wide-eyed from when he made the mistake of looking behind him a handful of minutes ago – from that reaction, Michael _really_ doesn’t want to see whatever Ryan’s doing.

It sounds horrendous, full of slick noises and sharp cracks and the occasional thud – everyone is silent save for Ryan and the wilderness and whatever sorcery Ryan’s concocting behind them.

The mumbled spell finishes. The trees crack and shift even though there’s no wind.

Michael stares back into the unblinking darkness and listens to Gavin shift on his feet.

Ryan swears quietly and then there’s – another voice? Another breath, at least, a pained exhalation that piques Michael’s curiosity.

“It’s done,” Ryan announces, a strain to his voice – Michael turns around cautiously to see the prince holding up – holding up someone _else_ , their arm slung over his shoulders and feet positioned oddly on the ground. Their head is hung, shaggy hair obscuring their features as Ryan smiles at them.

“What – _Who_ is that?” Jeremy asks, hand tight on his sword.

“Edgar,” Ryan says simply, watching carefully as Edgar lifts his head to look at them, squinting a little. He – He doesn’t _look_ like Edgar the ghost, not entirely. Michael cocks his head and studies him – his eyes are _green_ , not brown, his hair is a couple shades lighter than black. His nose is sharper, his jaw wider than his spectral form. He doesn’t have his glasses on, but by the way he’s not squinting, Michael guesses Ryan’s already fixed his vision with a potion.

“You’re different,” Michael says warily.

“Details,” Ryan says. “Easy to forget.”

“He forgot – himself?” Gavin asks. Ryan nods and Edgar groans, head swivelling to take them all in.

“My – ow,” Edgar grunts, lifting his hand to gesture at his eyes. “Dry.”

“Blink,” Ryan says, a quiet laugh threaded through his words. “You need to blink.”

Edgar blinks and sighs in relief – Gavin and Trevor laugh a little.

“I forgot how fucking annoying body is,” Edgar says. “So much to _remember_.”

“To be fair, we don’t usually remind ourselves to blink,” Ryan replies. “You’ll pick it up again.”

“Yeah, only been, what, 49 years?” Michael teases. “Like riding a bike.”

“Does he still know us?” Jeremy asks. “Like, his memory?”

“I’m right here,” Edgar deadpans. “ _Jeremy_.”

Ryan laughs and gently encourages Edgar to lean against the side of the portal while he gathers his stuff; Jeremy and Trevor curiously wander over to talk to Edgar while Michael helps pack up Ryan’s supplies. Gavin remains a cautious distance from the resurrected Edgar, eyes flicking down to his mismatched clothes and the unnatural pallor of his skin.

“Necromancy?” Michael hisses to Ryan, fumbling open a pocket in the satchel with his gauntlets. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Don’t worry,” Ryan says, wiping a dagger on a cloth. “I think perhaps we should be allowed this one.”

“Why do it?”

“Edgar wished to have some physicality,” Ryan says. “It is merely a vessel for him when he wishes it.”

Michael studies the prince for a moment before nodding – he supposes it’s not a sinister intent, and he trusts Ryan to do the right thing.

“Does the king know about this?” Michael asks. Ryan looks up at him, eyes sparkling and a small smirk on his lips.

“Not yet.”

\-- 

To Michael’s surprise, Ryan sends Gavin, Jeremy, and Trevor away with Edgar by themselves, with some specific instructions given to Jeremy and a batch of protection potions handed to Gavin – Michael makes to leave with them but Ryan holds him back with a hand on his shoulder and bids the others to go, waving cheerfully as they continue down the path, hollering farewell over their shoulders.

“Why are we staying behind?” Michael asks, turning around to face the prince. “What about – Edgar?”

“He’ll be okay,” Ryan says, dragging his hand down Michael’s arm to curl his fingers around his gauntlet. “Jack knows about this; I’ve asked him to set up Edgar.”

“Then? What about us?”

“I have...a little something else to collect,” Ryan replies, lifting a hand to gently cup Michael’s cheek. Michael leans easily into the touch and a moment later Ryan kisses him, soft and sweet and slow like he has all the time in the world. Michael sighs against him and slips an arm around Ryan’s waist to keep him close, laughing a little when their noses bump together.

“Missed that,” Ryan murmurs, brushing a thumb over Michael’s cheekbone when he pulls back.

“You could’ve kissed me with the others around,” Michael says. “They know.”

Ryan frowns and shakes his head, dropping another kiss to Michael’s lips.

“It would have been impolite to flaunt it so in front of them,” he says. Michael supposes he’s got a point. Ryan steps back and tugs gently on Michael’s wrist, grinning as he pulls him off the path into the forest.

“Anyway, a smaller party is better for this adventure,” he says cryptically, letting go of Michael so he can navigate through the trees instead, clearly following a path he already knows.

Michael struggles somewhat to keep up, avoiding overgrown roots and almost caught out by the near-invisible spiderwebs threading between branches – Ryan glances back over his shoulder to check on him and flashes him a smile that lightens Michael’s heart evermore, his own smile growing at the sight of the prince’s happiness.

They emerge upon a faint pathway, faded bootprints barely visible in the surface and pawprints more recently tracked across it. The trees are still vivid and lively, the pleasant chirp of birds echoing throughout the forest and making the narrow path seem almost _romantic_ , like a lover’s arch out of an old tale. As if to emphasise the atmosphere, Ryan gently takes Michael’s hand between his two, lifting it up between and carefully unclasping the iron gauntlet, stowing it away in Michael’s satchel before linking their fingers, the only thing between them Michael’s thin leather fingerless gloves.

“Where are we going?” Michael asks, scoffing at the shrug the prince gives in answer.

“We’ll be there soon,” Ryan replies, glancing at Michael.

“Before nightfall?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“I don’t exactly wish to spend another night in the forest, Ryan.”

Ryan laughs quietly and knocks their shoulders together as they walk, his eyes darting up to the sun shining above them and back to Michael.

“You won’t be,” he says, but the smart little smile dancing on his lips doesn’t exactly speak of plain truth. Oh, the prince is up to something.

Instead of answering, Michael squints back at him. Ryan simply laughs again and starts humming a cheerful tune with the birds.

\-- 

The path gives way to a sparser area of trees and Ryan carefully guides them through, his palm inhumanly warm against Michael’s and blazing up when Michael laughs at something he says – Michael’s sure if his hands could heat, they’d be constantly scorching around Ryan. Ryan’s satchel thumps against his back with every step, considerably lighter after the Edgar adventure but still laden with the clink of glass bottles, and the rubies on the hilt dagger tucked into the sewn-in sheath glitter in the bright sun – the dagger, Michael realises with a start, that he bought for Ryan back in Gyme, now neatly attached to his satchel as if it had always been there.

“Ryan, are we – ” Ryan abruptly stops and Michael trips over his own feet as he’s tugged to a stop at the edge of what could _barely_ be called a clearing – there’s slightly less trees, a few more stumps gathered around the –

“We’re there,” Ryan says, watching as Michael stares at the Nether portal – still in one piece, for all assumptions freshly built if it wasn’t for the chipped block in the top right. Not lit yet, but ready to be – the air crackles with its strange energy, raising the hair on the back of Michael’s neck.

“The Nether?” Michael asks uselessly, his hand slipping from Ryan’s as the prince steps over to sit down on a stump, bringing his satchel around to sit beside him.

“The Nether,” Ryan agrees, opening the bag to reach in. “But first, I imagine lunch would be in order.”

“It would,” Michael murmurs, stepping over to sit on the stump closest to Ryan, stretching his legs out with a groan. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the Nether. Close to a year, I believe.”

“Well, this one is in a pretty tame area,” Ryan says as he hands over parcels of wrapped food and a flask. “We shouldn’t have too much trouble in there.”

“If you say so,” Michael teases.

“I do say so,” Ryan teases back – he pauses before unwrapping his lunch, leaning forward to touch a finger to the underside of Michael’s chin and make him look up. Their eyes lock for a moment, Ryan’s so blue and brilliant in the soft sunlight, and he breathes out a quiet _Wait_.

“May I kiss you?” He asks. Michael scoffs.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says, although the care still warms his heart. Ryan’s eyes crinkle with his little laugh and he closes the gap between them easily, a surprised grunt leaving him when Michael responds more fiercely.

Michael is reluctant to let the prince go, but he does, eventually, curling his fingers around the prince’s hand and squeezing fondly before separating completely. There’s quite the endearing flush, faint though it be, on Ryan’s cheeks, nearly obscured by the sunlight but Michael’s quick to recognise that flush now, the one that also means Ryan’s palms are uncomfortably warm to the touch.

Instead of pointing it out, Michael simply glances down to his armour again as Ryan fiddles with paper packaging, tugging the twine loose to reveal his lunch.

“I don’t have the right armour for the Nether,” Michael says, looking over at the prince’s equally light armour – light _er_ , even, more leather than iron. “Neither do you.”

“I have potions for that,” Ryan says with a sly grin, pulling apart his roll of bread. “You think I’d come unprepared?”

“No harm in checking,” Michael replies. “After all, it’s a little hard to protect you if I myself don’t have protection.”

“Oh, you won’t need to protect me,” Ryan scoffs. “I’ll be fine.”

\-- 

“Ryan!” Michael lunges for the prince to steady him even though Ryan’s already laughing his near-death off, stepping back from the edge a little more and peering curiously down at the lava pits that would have _fried_ him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ryan laughs, patting Michael’s hand and continuing on their path – Michael sighs heavily and drags a face down his face, wondering why the _fuck_ he ever agreed to this.

“Why the fuck did I agree to this?” He mutters.

“Adventure,” Ryan answers, skirting around another pit.

 _Adventure_. So far the Nether has been careful steps and jumping at every distant roar of a Ghast – for Michael, at least; Ryan seems to take it all in stride. Getting into the Nether was as easy as it always is; one flick of Ryan’s flint-’n-steel and the inside of the frame went up in purple fire, simmering down to a translucent purple veil before they stepped in – the familiar woozy, topsy-turvy entry that left them disoriented for a moment before exploring. But Ryan was right, the portal led to a quiet cave in the Nether, quartz glittering around them in the stone and everything silent save for the distance roar of fire.

And now Ryan is searching for _Nether wart_ , or at least headed to a patch he claims should still be there, navigating easily around hills of Netherrack and swathes of fire while Michael’s simply on the lookout for any unfriendly fiends.

They walk until they find a large, open plane of Netherrack, stretched as far as the eye can see – Michael doesn’t look up in time and ends up stopping by bumping right into Ryan’s shoulder, knocking hard against his armour – shining with the potion they dipped their armour pieces in before entering, a concoction Ryan created that makes any material hard as diamond. Not as heavy as diamond, though, and Michael much prefers this lightweight armour to his diamond suit.

Michael’s head snaps up to see a horde of zombie pigmen shambling across, groaning loudly and nudging against each other with each wobbly step. Thankfully, they’re not coming towards them, but Michael spies a glint in Ryan’s eye he doesn’t like.

“We are not engaging them,” he says firmly.

“There’s a few stragglers on the end,” Ryan says, as if he heard nothing Michael just said. “We could pick a couple off.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because,” Ryan shrugs, “they carry valuables sometimes.”

“Ryan, no.”

“It won’t be too much,” Ryan promises, shooting Michael a glance before heading off towards the pigmen – Michael scrambles after him, grumbling under his breath as he takes out his axe – his only fucking weapon, of course, because he never expected to end up in the _Nether_.

The horde shambles across to reveal a rich patch of wart – Michael sighs at the sight; of _course_ this is where they have to be _anyway_ – and Ryan heads there first, glancing over at the slow horde before he crouches and starts gathering some of the mushrooms in the pouches attached to his belt. Michael focuses more on guarding, stays close and carefully tracks the swivelling heads in the horde, their curiosity drawn by Ryan’s movement.

“They shouldn’t attack,” Ryan reminds him, tugging up a bunch of warts and waving his hand to dispel the dust their roots kick up, brushing off the excess dirt before stowing them away. Michael grunts in acknowledgement and keeps watching.

True to Ryan’s word, they don’t attack, and the stragglers lag behind even farther from the group now. Probably perfect for picking them off, exactly what Michael dreads to do, but if the prince wants to run headfirst into danger, Michael’s sworn to protect his royal ass.

“You’ll take the one on the left, I’ll take right?” Ryan asks as they carefully follow the horde, axes drawn and daggers ready on their belts.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “You going to distract them first?”

Ryan nods and steps farther away to gently tap his axe against his iron gauntlet – the clink of metal draws the attention of the two stragglers, twin groans leaving their mouths as Ryan continues the noise, luring them away from the main body of the horde. Michael notices with relief that the horde continues on, happily unaware of its missing members.

Ryan glances behind him and slowly walks backwards, tempting the pigmen farther away so not to alert the horde to the attack. Michael stays as silent as he can, curling his other hand around the handle of his axe as he steps in time with the pigmen, using their footfalls to cover their own. They can’t see him, not from the angle they’re at, and from the way Ryan glances at him, Ryan knows what Michael’s trying to do.

When the horde is an appropriate distance away and Ryan’s stopped tapping quite so frequently, Michael makes the move. He tightens his grip on the axe, lunges forward and swings up high before bringing it down heavily on a pigman, the blade _cr_ _u_ _nching_ into its rotting skin with the most disgusting sound – it turns around with a sudden ferocity, sword raised to hit Michael back. Michael catches a swift glimpse of Ryan engaging the other and then he’s too preoccupied fighting his own to watch the prince much – he trusts from Ryan’s grunts and otherwise relative silence that he doesn’t need help.

The pigman swings clumsily but _hard_ at Michael, a flurry of hits that Michael frantically blocks with his axe and his arm, his potioned armour protecting him well enough for him to merely stumble back at the blow. He whacks at the pigman again, chopping into unsightly, _gross_ flesh and ignoring the black blood that spills from each wound to hack at him more, wincing at every heavy fall of the golden sword against his shoulder and arm. The sword lands repeatedly against his side but against nothing important – Michael gathers up his strength once more to swing the axe right into the side of the pigman’s head with brutish force, thoroughly revolted by the damage but the blow does make the pigman go still, the sword dropping from its gnarled fingers to clatter on the Netherrack and when the ungodsly creature slumps to its knees, Michael lets the axe fall with it, thudding heavily to the ground along with the pigman.

He glances over just in time to see Ryan knock over his pigman, a pickaxe firmly shoved through its heart and felling it easily, its shield slipping from its grip. Ryan plants his foot on the pigman’s chest and tugs out his pickaxe with a repulsive _squelch_ , grimacing at the mess of undead blood and rotting viscera coating the blade. He looks up at Michael and Michael pulls a face as well – it breaks them into laughter, the fight adrenaline seeping away and leaving them equal parts hysterically giddy with victory and exhausted.

“Are you hurt?” Ryan asks, tossing his weapons aside into a sloppy pile.

“No, are you?” Michael replies, rubbing his side where the pigman kept bettering him.

“Nothing except bruises.” Yeah, Michael suspects he’ll have a lot of those as well, can already feel his arm growing tender under the iron.

“Now what?” Michael asks.

“Loot them and then leave,” Ryan says, crouching to paw through the pigman’s pouch.

Michael copies him, tearing open the ratty bag to find a bundle of pouches in it – with a resigned sigh, he reluctantly pulls them open, sure he’ll find something just as revolting as the dead undead lying under him.

He fiddles through a few empty ones at first, finds a gold nugget in one sopping wet one and doesn’t question the liquid soaked through before moving on to the next. Most of them are empty, he concludes, a pile of cloth by him and a whole on of nothing in his own pouches.

Although – he picks up one of the last few and finds it heavy, weighing it in his palm with a frown. Much heavier than a gold nugget. A few curious pokes determines it’s hard; unlikely to be anything _too_ gross, then, right? Michael urges it open and tips it into his palm and -

It’s a diamond. A _whole_ diamond, pure and unbroken except for the slight chips around the edges. It’s not bigger than his palm, fitting neatly into it, but he gasps anyway, surprised at such treasure.

“Michael, are you almost – _oh_ ,” Ryan says, inching over in his crouch to admire the jewel. “That’s quite rare, you know, to find a whole one.”

“I know,” Michael breathes. Usually the smiths only use chips of diamond, all melted and poured into whatever mould. He sheepishly glances up at the prince and offers the diamond out to him, cocking an eyebrow. “Do you want it?”

“It’s yours,” Ryan says with a shake of his head, gently folding Michael’s fingers around it. “You fought for it, you keep it.”

“But Ryan - ”

“But nothing,” Ryan insists. “Check your last few and then we’ll go.”

“Okay,” Michael agrees, slipping the diamond into a pouch at his waist and pawing through the last few pigman pouches.

They yield nothing other than dust and ash and - “Eurgh!” Michael exclaims, turning the bag to Ryan to let him see the patch of creeper hide in there, the pattern distinct and clear. Ryan laughs and gently takes the bag, reaching in _with a finge_ r to poke it curiously.

“Really?!” Michael says. “You’re _touching_ it?!”

“It’s okay,” Ryan says, closing the pouch and handing it back to Michael. “It’s from no gruesome method, merely a piece of moulted hide.”

Michael shudders anyway – he knows creepers shed, but he’s never _seen_ it before and he doesn’t _want_ to – although the pristine piece of hide is, admittedly, a little fascinating despite his initial disgust. He takes that pouch, too, tucking it away beside the gold nugget and steadfastly not thinking about the creature it came from.

“Here, let’s go,” Ryan says, picking up his filthy weapons again. “We can clean these when we’re back in the Over.”

“Good idea,” Michael agrees.

\-- 

When they step back out into the Over, it’s daytime – a new day, from the height of the sun; they’ve skipped nighttime altogether. Michael is a little disoriented by the time warp – Nether trips do that – but a lot glad he didn’t have to spend another night in the forest.

Ryan mutters a spell to deactivate the Nether – much quicker than the non-magic method Michael would have used with water and sand – and settles down to clean their weapons, handing Michael that strange yellow cleaning potion, a flask of neverending water, and a cloth to wipe it all down with.

The cleaning goes mostly in silence, a few murmured words and requests for supplies as they thoroughly purge their weapons and armour of zombie pigmen remains. Ryan taps on their enchanted armour and dissipates the diamonding potion, their leathers again malleable and pliant.

“Why don’t they use that instead of diamond armour?” Michael asks, jerking his chin over to the diamonding potion Ryan’s packing away.

“It’s – dangerous,” Ryan replies slowly. “Uncommon, too, very specific ingredients. I specially made it for this trip.”

“How so, though?”

“If spilt or splashed or – if it hits anything other than what it’s supposed to, it could seriously hurt,” Ryan says, glancing up at Michael. “Accidentally harden the wrong item, and the undoing of it is much more complicated if you don’t have – inherent magic.”

“Oh.”

“It’s safer to use actual armour, less chances of people hurting themselves.” On that note, Ryan reaches out to take Michael’s arm, gently fitting his hand around Michael’s bracer and lifting his arm to inspect his knuckles.

“Ryan?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you fighting,” Ryan says with a knowing glare. “Took quite a lot of hits to your side.”

“Nothing except bruises,” Michael replies, parroting back the prince’s earlier response. “It’ll heal.”

“Hmm,” Ryan hums, dipping his head to brush a kiss across Michael’s knuckles anyway, still damp from where he cleaned them off earlier.

“Any more adventures planned?” Michael jokes, grinning goofily at Ryan’s snort of laughter.

“No,” Ryan says, letting Michael’s arm go to resume his cleaning. “Unless you’d like any?”

“The only adventure I want right now is a shower.”

“That can be arranged.”

\-- 

They arrive at the kingdom just before sundown, delayed a little by wandering curiosity in the forest, following the sounds of a bubbling river, the clear song of a bird apparently _fascinating_ to the prince – _They don’t have these in the west_ , he’d said, something like innocent wonder on his face, _I only ever see them here in the winter. They’re so colourful for such a drab season_ , and Michael had responded with probably a shrug and the bird’s name and Ryan had swept him in for a sweet kiss under the birdsong.

Michael detours to his shack to drop off his stuff while Ryan continues on to the castle – Gavin’s sound asleep when Michael walks in, so he goes about his business as quickly as possible, stashing his armour and his weapons and his other assorted items by his chest and on his bed and bundling up a change of clean clothes in a clean bag, tying it shut before leaving again to head to the castle.

Ryan welcomes him in with a hug and a kiss, the last remnants of sunset shining through his window as he locks the door and tugs Michael in close. Michael lets the prince take over how he so clearly wants to, unlacing Michael’s shirt and trousers and waiting patiently for him to kick off his boots before undressing him – the prince is already half-undressed himself, a smattering of bruises dark over his ribs and shoulders from the fight earlier.

Hot fingers sweep over Michael’s bruises, tender and still purpling deep into the skin. His forearm looks almost as bad as Ryan’s chest, and he winces when Ryan touches it. Ryan frowns and gently urges him towards the bathroom, turns on the water before shucking his trousers to step in with Michael, carefully encouraging Michael to lean against the stone as he grabs a potion off the built-in shelf and uncorks it.

“You fought quite valiantly, I thought,” Ryan murmurs with a smile, pressing soft kisses to Michael’s cheek as he lathers up his hands with the thick potion. “This’ll stop them hurting quite so much.”

Michael hums in agreement and threads a hand in Ryan’s hair as Ryan gingerly rubs the potion over Michael’s bruises, his fingers pressing over aching skin and the potion mostly numbing it almost instantly, tingling warm through Michael’s bones as he sighs contentedly, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Fuck,” Michael hisses when Ryan takes his forearm – Ryan kisses his jaw and waits a moment before lathering potion over the bruises there, linking his hand with Michael’s when he’s done.

Michael doesn’t have much energy, exhausted and weary from the “adventures”, but he’s got enough to tug Ryan’s head up with the grip in his hair and pull him in for a sloppy kiss, gently biting his lip and groaning when Ryan opens under him, slotting in between his legs and indulging in a much filthier kiss, his hands cupping either side of Michael’s face.

“Gods, how do you have the energy?” Michael breathes, panting already.

“Something about you, I suppose,” Ryan replies easily, nosing at Michael’s cheek to plant more sweet kisses on his skin. “Although I must confess I haven’t got much left.”

“Use it wisely,” Michael teases.

“Oh, I will,” Ryan says, linking their fingers together. He brings Michael’s hand up to press his lips to his knuckles, his palm, down to his wrist as the hot water steams between them. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Michael says, his grin breaking into a laugh when fingers dance over his uninjured side, ticklish and light. “Ryan, no!”

Ryan giggles and buries his face in Michael’s neck, staying close while he tickles him mercilessly, continuing until Michael’s breathless and _begging_ him to stop, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes with his boisterous laughter. Michael runs a hand over Ryan’s back while they calm down, happy little bursts of laughter bubbling out of them every few moments.

“Stay tonight?” Ryan asks.

“I already brought a change of clothes,” Michael replies.

“What makes you think you need clothes?”

“Gods, Ryan,” Michael breathes, laughing again when Ryan gently nips his neck. “How do you have the _energy_ for your shameless debauchery tonight?”

“I don’t,” Ryan replies simply. He stifles another giggle in Michael’s shoulder and Michael sighs, a smile settling on his face nonetheless.

“Remind me why I love you.”

Ryan rolls one shoulder in a loose shrug and pulls back to reach for the soap, pouring some out in his palms and not budging from his position between Michael’s legs the whole time.

“Because I’m letting you sleep in my bed,” Ryan says, and Michael nods.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he allows. Ryan snorts.

\-- 

Michael sleeps way past sunrise – almost past _noon_ , even, his cheek pressed to a soft, plush pillow and his arm draped over a very warm Ryan, their legs tangled together as quiet rainfall patters the walls. The prince snoozes softly beside Michael, his ribs rising and falling gently under Michael’s arm – his injured ribs, the bruises looking worse today. Michael slips his arm down to Ryan’s waist instead and drops a kiss to the nape of his neck, nosing briefly at his hair.

A few more kisses to the knobs of his spine make Ryan stir, grunting in response as he rolls over to lie on his back, allowing Michael more access to his neck. Michael continues up to his scruffy jaw, his cheek, back down to his throat and the gentle rhythm of his pulse.

“Good morning,” Michael murmurs, glancing up at the prince.

“M’rnin’,” Ryan rumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He cracks an eye open to look at Michael and smiles when he sees him, ducking down to brush his lips over Michael’s cheekbone.

“How’re you feeling?” Ryan asks, one hand skating down to rest over Michael’s bruised forearm, the one lying over Ryan’s abdomen.

“It’s fine,” Michael says. “Just aches. Probably shouldn’t willingly get into a fight any time soon.”

“Probably,” Ryan agrees, sighing happily when Michael threads their fingers together and squeezes his hand. “Thankfully we have no business today.”

“ _You_ might not have any,” Michael corrects. “I have some things I’d like to do on my day off.”

“Am I one of them?” Ryan asks with a playful smirk. Michael laughs against his skin and gently kicks his leg.

“You can be.”

“Oh?”

“If you really want to,” Michael adds, but Ryan’s already urging Michael up to lie on top of him – a position Michael gladly takes, laughing as he braces himself on his good arm and rests the other on Ryan’s chest, leaning down to kiss him as he brings his leg over to kneel between the splay of Ryan’s thighs.

“You’re incorrigible,” he breathes.

“Only for you,” Ryan breathes back, melting into the next kiss with a happy laugh that warms Michael’s heart more than the furs gathered around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that at the notes at the end of my document it says 'Chapter 2 - necromancy', so that's when it was ACTUALLY supposed to happen but I guess story happened instead.


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